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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26104237">I Know Not Everybody (Has a Body Like You)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolyncooper/pseuds/gwendolyncooper'>gwendolyncooper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Torchwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bodyswap, Drug Use, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rhys is gwensexual, Team Bonding, The amount of relationship tags I am amassing...., Weird alien fuckery, dubcon, i swear the John/Rhys tag isn’t what it seems, legendary, undead!owen, welsh arguments, welsh complaining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:00:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26104237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolyncooper/pseuds/gwendolyncooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen Cooper doesn’t remember how she ended up here. In fact...Gwen Cooper can’t remember much at all.</p><p>When Gwen wakes up in a different body, she knows some sort of foul play is afoot. So when she looks in the mirror and recognizes none other than Captain John Hart, she has no doubt who’s at fault.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gwen Cooper &amp; Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper &amp; John Hart, Gwen Cooper &amp; Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Ianto Jones &amp; Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/John Hart, John Hart &amp; Owen Harper, John Hart/Rhys Williams, John Hart/Toshiko Sato</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Torchwood Fan Fests: Bingo Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Swap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gwen Cooper doesn’t remember how she ended up here. In fact...Gwen Cooper can’t remember much at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember is the night before. She’d gotten in late, and Rhys was waiting up for her watching some sort of shit telly - a reality show, or something. She’d grabbed a bottle of wine and a couple glasses, kicked off her boots, and immediately collapsed onto the couch with him. Idle chat about their days turned into cuddling, turned into kissing, turned into -- well, the couch was sturdy, that much was for certain.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So where the hell is she now?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>First off, the place is dark. The ceiling she wakes up to is unfamiliar, and bland. There’s the barest hints of dawn tracking in through a singular window on the wall opposite, and when she turns her head to look at it, she finds herself face to face with a stranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instinct kicks in and she remains silent, glancing over his sleeping face. He’s young - probably late twenties, same as her. And he’s classically handsome, she supposes - cut jawline, nice bone structure. Brunet, bit of a crooked nose, largeish ears with a steel piercing in the upper shell of the right one. She’ll be able to identify him later if necessary. But is he a </span>
  <em>
    <span>threat?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s yet to be determined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How drunk </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> she last night--?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there’s another distraction, as she registers two things at once: a warm weight lying against her chest, and a rather unique, uncomfortable sensation between her legs. Curiosity has her lift her head -- shit, there’s another body in bed with her, a blonde woman draped over her chest, her...chest?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand lifts, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s not her </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking hand.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>man’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> hand. And her chest is flat, it’s not her own, and she’s --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” she whispers, and yes - that’s a very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> deep voice compared to her own. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> what’s happened? Why is she in this man’s body? What’s happened to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hers?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh, god, where was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rhys?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman on her chest lets out a soft sigh, her breathing deepening, and Gwen can feel every muscle in her body stiffening as she wills her back into sleep. It’s no good, of course -- brown eyes open and gaze up at her blearily as a smirk quirks that sleepy expression. “Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>good morning,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” the woman hums, and her leg shifts against Gwen’s own and - </span>
  <em>
    <span>aah,</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay, right, so she’s in a man’s body, which means that feeling is a natural reaction in the early morning hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d really rather it </span>
  <em>
    <span>not.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...mornin’,” she whispers in response, her accent strange on this voice, as if almost garbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a night,” the woman returns, shifting once more, and it becomes evident that she’s moving her leg against Gwen’s - the man’s - Jesus, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>cock</span>
  </em>
  <span> on purpose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you-?” A slightly strangled attempt to get her to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> is misinterpreted, it seems, as the hand resting against her chest begins to slide downward, over her stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I…? You weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>nearly</span>
  </em>
  <span> this polite last night, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No--” Her hand, that massive, unfamiliar hand, shoots out to wrap around the woman’s wrist, a nervous laugh escaping her. “I’ll be honest, don’t remember much about last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a pity.” Her companion laughs. “It was a night to </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Could do with a reminder…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thanks,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she responds, and promptly sits up, dumping the woman unceremoniously off of her onto the covers beside her. Right, now that she’s up, she can tell she’s in some sort of shitty motel room, but god only knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>where.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She ignores the protests from her companion, but now the brunet man is waking, and she has </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get out of there before something else happens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi, you don’t have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rush off,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was you that started this whole thing!” Indignancy is clear in the woman’s voice, and now there’s a sleepy rumble coming from the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s he off to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dunno, bein’ a bit of a cock about it, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I just--” She climbs out of bed, awkwardly adjusting to her new proportions. She’s tall, she realizes -- well, taller than she’s used to, and she’s got different bits now, and walking is a bit of a task. She’s stark naked, exposed, but as she glances back at the other two, so are they, so at least she isn’t alone in that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be embarrassed, it was a good night.” The man’s English, not Welsh -- Northern, sounds like. The woman’s definitely a local.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Starling, by the way,” the woman says, and Gwen glances back as the man extends his hand to her to shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Starling and Mark.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Christ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both turn to look at her, then, and she fumbles. “Um -- I -- Rhys. I’m Rhys.” Right, brilliant, she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rhys</span>
  </em>
  <span> now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could stay for a bit, Rhys,” Mark begins, and Starling nods eagerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t, I have to -- um, work.” Yeah, Jack is going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> this, but at least he’ll be able to help figure out what to do. “Clothes--” She turns then, searching the assorted clothing tossed aside on the floor, sizing up what looked to be hers and what had to be Mark’s. Boxer briefs, awkwardly pulled on over her hips, a pair of jeans that are clearly too small for Mark’s frame and too big for Starling’s, squeezed into (why does this man wear such </span>
  <em>
    <span>tight</span>
  </em>
  <span> clothing? It’s misery, fitting into the denim, especially at that particular moment). A white tee, bit big, maybe Mark’s, and --</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. Oh, mother of Christ.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She freezes, reaches down to lift the ever-so-familiar red jacket from the ground with uncertain hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t let this be him, dear </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>god.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“You all right, Rhys?” Starling’s voice breaks into her thoughts, and when she looks up, she knows her eyes are wide and round and panicked, whatever they look like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you just -- give me a moment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that she dashes off to the attached loo, slamming the door shut and locking it before she whirls to face the mirror, freezing in place as her blue eyes meet the reflection of a face she knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>all too well.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mister Cooper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Captain John Hart awakens wrapped in a large man’s arms, it’s with a smile. The night before had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun,</span>
  </em>
  <span> without a doubt. He hadn’t even gotten through introductions in the loud club before they were all stumbling out the door together - he supposes that’s the perks of meeting drunk on a dance floor. They’d certainly been an adventurous trio, this one, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> if he isn’t interested in rehashing the night with them both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s only a couple of half-asleep seconds to think through said happenings before instinct tells him </span>
  <em>
    <span>something is wrong.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hasn’t survived this long by not listening to his instincts, and so he sits upright abruptly, gaze darting about the unfamiliar room, immediately fully awake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are several things he notices at once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first: no hangover. He’d been wasted the night before, and though he’s rarely sober, there should be some sort of lingering effects, even if it’s that he’s still drunk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second: he doesn’t know this room. It’s small, clean, and unfamiliar. The deeply purple duvet is soft and foreign to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The third: He doesn’t know the face of the man next to him, but it certainly isn’t his bedfellow from the night before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And fourth, and most certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>most</span>
  </em>
  <span> important, he seems to have managed to find himself in the body of a member of the opposite sex.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if this is a dangerous situation, he has to admit, he’s always wondered about </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances about -- none of his weapons are nearby. Not ideal, but he can make do. He pauses to look himself over, twisting his hands in front of his eyes. Small, white, freckled. Dainty hands, which he presses to his chest. Ah, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fantastic</span>
  </em>
  <span> figure, he’ll give her that. Whoever </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> might be. The blanket is lifted; he’s naked, and well...all right, she’s pretty all over. The possibility of danger pauses any </span>
  <em>
    <span>exploration</span>
  </em>
  <span> he might be so inclined to pursue, though he’ll certainly come back to that later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A swift second glance about confirms he seems to be in the bedroom of a flat. Hopefully he’s not gone far from his body, he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>rather</span>
  </em>
  <span> attached to it, and god knows what the woman who belongs to this one is doing if they’ve switched places. A glance to his sleeping companion confirms he’s still in dreamland, before John shifts carefully. One bare foot finds the carpet, and then the other. He’s quite short now, isn’t he? It’ll take an adjustment, but he eases out the bedroom door carefully and quietly. The main area is homey, if small and simple. He’ll take a look around in a moment, but for now, he opens the first door he finds and is relieved to find the bathroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door is closed and locked, the lightswitch flicked on, and he immediately turns to the mirror -- surprise and </span>
  <em>
    <span>delight</span>
  </em>
  <span> flickers across the face he sees therein as he recognizes it immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cooper,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he breathes quietly, leaning in closer as he brings up a hand to touch her fair skin, green gaze intent upon its own reflection. Of course he knows Agent Cooper -- knows this face, these lips. It’s not a surprise now that this body is so shapely, and a smirk quirks those plush lips at the thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he’s in her body, she’s likely in his. Knowing the situation she’ll find herself in brings a light laugh into being, high and sweet. Ah, her </span>
  <em>
    <span>voice.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Hello,” he tells himself, watching her face move at his bidding. An attempt is made to mimic her accent, though it’s poorly done. “I’m Special Agent Gwen Cooper. Torchwood. What a </span>
  <em>
    <span>riot--</span>
  </em>
  <span>” his inflection returns to his own, odd from these particular lips. “What have you gotten yourself into now, Agent Cooper?” He can </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> assume it’s due to something to do with Torchwood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Torchwood.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right, that means if she’s in his body, then her ever-so-irritating comrades would be crashing his party any moment. It also means his body is safe, so there’s no need to worry, and since he’d stopped by Earth to say hello to his old flame </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyway...</span>
  </em>
  <span>well, everything was coming up roses for Captain John Hart, now wasn’t it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, if they’re going to come in all macho and guns blazing, he’s going to have fun while he waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So. Who’s this man in her bed?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns and waltzes back into the bedroom, glancing over the man there. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rhys,</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t it? She’d spoken to him on the phone when they’d first met. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm. Well…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves onto the bed, enjoying for the moment that he’s much lighter than he’s used to, swinging a leg over Rhys’ frame so he’s straddling him over the blanket. Rhys lets out a soft grunt, eyes opening slowly before he looks up, a smile pulling over his sleepy expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mornin’, lovely,” he murmurs. Oh, it’s not a surprise Gwen’s into him, that expression alone is enough to make any basic, boring human melt. Frankly, John’s not about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he sees why she is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He allows Rhys to draw him down into a kiss, lips pressed to lips for only a moment before Rhys deepens that kiss, finding John’s - Gwen’s? - tongue with his own. It’s slow, and sweet, if something less than exciting. John can only indulge, curious. He does seem...rather vanilla, for Gwen, doesn’t he? She deserves better. Someone who can </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> show her a good time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps Rhys does, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...you all right?” Rhys’ query is given as he abruptly pulls back, a quizzical frown quirking his brow as he gazes up at John.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Course,” he responds briefly, knowing he’ll mangle her accent if he speaks too much, before he leans down to kiss Rhys again, only to be pushed back, gently, Rhys’ large hand splayed over his sternum.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just seem....off.” There’s clear concern in his gaze, and John allows one hand to rest over Rhys’ on his chest, the other cupping the man’s cheek in as gentle a manner as he can manage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why, because I want to kiss my boyfriend?” Oh, he can hear the awkwardness around those vowels, but now Rhys is distracted for an entirely different reason.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Boyfriend?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He begins to sit up now, propping himself up on his elbow as he stares up at John. “Since when have I been demoted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span> again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stupid, that. He realizes the wedding band on Gwen’s finger now. Well...this is turning out to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>difficult</span>
  </em>
  <span> at best, now isn’t it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Couldn’t help it.” He breaks into a smile, hoping her face is cute enough to get him out of this. “Just wanted to see your reaction, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mister Cooper.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Of course he’d be Cooper, wouldn’t he? He doesn’t know Rhys’ last name, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, Rhys simply stares at him, and a million scenarios flash through his head. The accent is too shit, he’s picked the wrong name, something else has had Rhys figure it out -- but oh, no, there’s pressure under the blanket against his leg, and John feels a smirk quirk his lips. There’s a pause, before Rhys mirrors his expression, and he shakes his head. “You know I can’t resist it when you call me that. C’mere, you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, his hand is at the back of John’s head, fingers tangled in dark hair, as he pulls him down again, kissing him deeply, more eagerly this time, and John finds a tinge of intrigue. Right, so there’s potential there, and he immediately takes control, this time hands cupping Rhys’ face as his tongue slips between his lips, putting more force behind it that Rhys seems more than willing to accept, a soft moan escaping the man beneath him as John settles into a more comfortable position atop him--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>BANG.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John’s teeth have just caught Rhys’ lip when a loud, sudden crash is heard from the main living area, and they both startle apart. Rhys yelps; John tastes a hint of blood. He’s bitten the man, not something he usually does accidentally. Neither have a chance to react before a familiar voice rings through the apartment, and John’s heart skips a beat, despite himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Rhys!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a startled sort of fumbling for words as Rhys sits upright, an arm wrapped around John’s waist to steady him, bewilderment clear in his expression as he practically spits out the name. “What the fuck is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing here?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rhys, where are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s with a different thrill of delight that John recognizes </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice, and he sits up straighter, gaze trained on the bedroom door, which, before either occupant can react, is kicked open with enough force to splinter the frame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oi!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get off him!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Voices mingle, tones of mixed delight and anger as the leader of Torchwood enters the room, followed closely by his ever-present shadow and resident </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eye Candy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> both guns drawn and pointed directly at John.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s gun is put away immediately, that patented frown that’s more </span>
  <em>
    <span>pout</span>
  </em>
  <span> than anything clear on his expression. Ianto guards the door, weapon held steady upon him as Jack all but </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaps</span>
  </em>
  <span> across the room, hands closing about John’s arms as he bodily drags him off of Rhys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are benefits to being Gwen, John realizes. One - he’s still naked in front of Jack, but in an </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely</span>
  </em>
  <span> new way. Two - he’s quite small, and very light, and as it turns out, being manhandled by Jack Harkness is something he entirely enjoys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s little time to really focus on it, though, as Rhys explodes into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>rage,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his voice loud and angry and resounding in the tiny room. “</span>
  <b>
    <em>GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t your </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jack practically shouts back, his grip near-bruising around John, though he’s perfectly content to remain in the man’s hold, making no moves to escape. “It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gwen,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rhys, it’s someone else!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who the bloody hell does she </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> like to you!” He clambers to his feet, the purple duvet wrapped around his waist as he scrambles for a throw blanket. He grips it tightly in his hand, starting towards them, before Jack’s hand finds his chest, holding him back as he drags John further away from Rhys, putting his body between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi, at least let her cover up, you dolt! And you, eyes off!” Rhys hasn’t lowered his volume, and Ianto gives only an exasperated look to the man, indicating his eyes had never been </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> the agent’s bare form. John simply watches in clear intrigue as Jack relents, accepting the throw cover in order to drape it about his shoulders, cloaking Gwen’s body. He continues an attempt to calm the man as he does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hard to explain--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you think you are, Jack </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harkness,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you can just break in here and into our </span>
  <b>bedroom,</b>
  <span> without warning, like you’re some sort of--!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rhys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a new voice in the room - a voice John </span>
  <em>
    <span>recognizes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but given a different cadence to it. John’s head snaps to the side, eyes wide and smile nothing short of smug as he watches Gwen Cooper step into the room, residing in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘There you are, sweetheart, thanks for keeping it warm for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John, if you’ve done a </span>
  <em>
    <span>single</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing to that body, I’ll castrate you before you get this back.” Gwen doesn’t even glance at him, that brilliantly blue gaze of his (hers, now), steady on Rhys with an almost-sickening </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleading</span>
  </em>
  <span> in them. John can’t help but roll his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we go back to Vera? It suits me better right now, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gwen--?” Rhys’ voice is quiet, and uncertain now, and Gwen - the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gwen, though she doesn’t look it - sighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to be headed to the Hub,” Jack sighs, though there’s no surprise in his tone at her appearance. Gwen ignores him, a fact which amuses John about her tenacity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m</span>
  <em>
    <span> here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rhys. Something’s happened and we’ve swapped bodies, I don’t -- I don’t know what happened. Sorry to startle you, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>called them. To come </span>
  <em>
    <span>protect</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. I knew they could get here faster.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re -- that’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Accusation flashes in the Welshman’s eyes as he turns to John, who waggles his fingers teasingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Mister Cooper, just couldn’t resist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>call</span>
  </em>
  <span> him that.” Gwen snaps irritably, her fists clenching, and John can only smirk at her, shrugging a shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured you’d show up soon enough.” He addresses the room at large, before his attention shifts to the young agent in the doorway, ignoring the fact that the gun was still pointed squarely at him. “Eye Candy - good to see you, too.” The eye roll elicited from the Welshman who’s been stood sentry in the doorway is expected, though he doesn’t receive a verbal parry. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Disappointing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’ll get one later, he’s certain of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rhys, just…” A deep breath is taken by Gwen, and Jack steps in for a clear loss of words on her part.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Follow us to the Hub, okay? We’re going to get this figured out, and Gwen will be back in her body in no time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for the concern,” John retorts, and Jack glares down at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll deal with myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t wait. It’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrilling</span>
  </em>
  <span> when you get all physical.” Just to prove his point, he jerks against Jack’s grasp, grinning when Jack only holds him tighter. “You can do whatever you like to me, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oi.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” As it turns out, all three of the Welsh in the room have a telepathic link in that moment as they speak in unison, and John can only laugh at their collective ire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, come on then, can’t wait to see if you’ve redecorated yet.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bedside Manner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Walking into the Hub feels nothing short of foreign as Gwen crosses the threshold, gazing about at it with, quite literally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>new eyes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The ride over had been silent, save for John’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>endless</span>
  </em>
  <span> chatter and the one phone call Jack had made to Tosh and Owen to explain the situation, ending in Tosh leaving the Hub immediately to run scans on Gwen’s flat and the motel room she’d left Mark and Starling in, ignoring what they were up to as she disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gwen ignores John’s bitching in the background as he’s handcuffed - a precaution she knows is necessary, but not one she thinks will do much - standing awkwardly in the common area with her arms crossed over her chest. She’s swapped out John’s red attire for one of Rhys’ leather jackets, a comforting feeling as it’s wrapped around her body. The scent of her husband is one that has always been calming to her, and now for the moment as she’s left to her own devices, she lifts the collar to her nose and inhales deeply. Another innuendo from behind her brings her attention back to the trio standing there; Ianto meets her gaze briefly, irritation clear in his, before he disappears back up through the cog door. She wants to ask him to stay, but there’s no real reason for it or fairness to that. He’ll have to be in the tourist office to let Rhys in when he arrives, so his exit makes sense, but the determined manner in which he moves tells Gwen that it’s more to do with John’s presence than duty. The time agent has a strange habit of getting directly under Ianto’s skin, and a clear fascination with him. Whether it’s because of his entanglement with their captain or because of Ianto himself is anybody’s guess; Gwen’s is that it’s a bit of both. Still, it must be aggravating, being subjected to John’s words and blatant stare, coming from eyes he’s come to associate with Gwen, herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes drift to the perpetrator in question as Ianto disappears. It’s strange, seeing her own body draped in what is now an oversized, alarmingly red military jacket, mannerisms consistent with John’s own and voice holding a different accent. There’s a sick sort of fascination to it, running her gaze over her body and finding only a stranger there. At least he had agreed to her insistence on dressing, and somehow had made her wardrobe suit him. Dark jeans, knee-high leather boots (he seems no stranger to heels, an interesting observation), the white tee and the red jacket hanging loose off his shoulders. He’s pulled her hair back into some sort of messy ponytail, keeping it out of his face. Honestly, it doesn’t look bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She should try a similar look at some point, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span> she gets her body back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances up at her and grins, but she turns away before she’s forced to listen to another innuendo, waving a hand at him dismissively. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> his smug expression on </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> face, some sort of mockery of what she expects in the mirror. And here she is, standing there like a lump, uncertain in his frame while he seems to be having the time of his life in hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wishes Rhys were here, and the thought of it brings a hollow hole to her chest. Rhys said he was stopping off to grab them both coffee -- and gather time to think, she was certain. He hadn’t looked her directly in the eye since that first bewildering moment, and while she knows it was difficult for him, that doesn’t negate the hurt. She feels like a stranger in her own existence, her limbs too long and her voice too deep and the cautious way everyone around her looks at her grating on her. She knows it’s unprecedented and upsetting, and quite frankly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrifying.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But she’s not a bomb about to go off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Is she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gwen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Owen’s voice catches her attention, and she turns, finding it surprising at best that she looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>down</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him from her newfound height. She’s braced for the inevitable surprise and shock, the teasing jabs that he’ll hand out or the simple awkwardness that she expects. But she should know better with Owen. Instead, she finds his brown gaze looking at her as he always does when he’s in doctor mode: warm, and open, and without a hint of judgement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Owen.” That voice, that fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>voice</span>
  </em>
  <span> feels like nails over a chalk board. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. She wants her own back, but no, it’s currently teasing Jack in an English accent about some past mission.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, I’ll get you checked out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She follows him silently, down the steps to the medbay. It’s at the bottom of the stairs that she missteps on a wrong calculation on the length of her legs, catches herself abruptly before Owen can even turn around to grab her. “I’m fine,” she promises, moving over to the examination table. A loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang</span>
  </em>
  <span> resounds through the area as she reaches out to the table, instead misjudging the distance and whacking the back of her hand on it. “Shit!” It’s a bit too loud and frustrated of a curse for what it is, and she clutches her hand close to her body, her jaw set. “Jesus, his long fucking arms.” She seats herself atop the table with a grunt, refusing to meet Owen’s gaze. “Dunno how it happened, before you ask,” she started sullenly, before shrugging off the jacket and pulling Mark’s shirt off over her head. No shame in that now, is there? “I fell asleep with Rhys and woke up in bed with strangers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Strangers, plural?” Owen comments mildly, simply making conversation as he busies himself with her vitals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Starling and Mark, apparently. Seemed eager to have another go at him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t envy that peek into his life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t let them give me details.” Normally, this banter would be given with smirks and teasing tones - now, she simply stares straight ahead at the wall, expressionless, unmoving. It’s a long moment of silence that precedes Owen’s next words, only given when he sighs and places his stethoscope around his neck, leaning on the table with one hand as he looks up at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’re healthy. Nothing off with your vitals, if you hadn’t told me you were Gwen, I wouldn’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>great.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Her nose wrinkles and her lip curls as she nods, sarcasm heavy in her tone, and one corner of the doctor’s lips quirks into a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Except,” he ponders, pointing at her in that easy, casual manner he holds when he’s in his element, “for that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For what?” She sighs, shoulders slumping as she looks at him, those too-large hands limp within her lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your expression, your tone.” He shrugs, busying himself readying a syringe to draw her blood. “You’re all Gwen. Never seen John Hart look anything close to that.” His focus is on the equipment now, but it’s clear his thoughts remain firmly with her, answering a question she’s too afraid to speak aloud. “We’d have known, Gwen. If you hadn’t been able to tell us, we’d have known it wasn’t you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brown eyes find blue, and he pauses, simply looking at her, brows raised. It’s a surprise to her that she feels tears pricking at her eyes, and she swallows thickly around the lump in her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wasn’t worried about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No?” He shrugs, allowing her to brush it off if she likes, before taking her arm and readying the draw. “Not a thought you had at all? Heard Rhys was surprised.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...he didn’t know, no,” she returned, her voice half a whisper now, lower as if to hide the truth that had been so obviously seen by both Ianto and Jack from them in retrospect. “Dunno what happened, really, but um...he didn’t know. Or didn’t realize, I…” A deep breath lifted her chest, and she winced as the needle slid smoothly into the vein in her arm, guided by Owen’s capable hands. “I thought he’d figure it out immediately, you know? Hoped he would.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t think anyone could fool him for long, but we know John’s convincing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Owen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gwen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fact that you’re being this nice makes me nervous. Am I dying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It draws a laugh from him, and he shakes his head as he completes the draw. “I’m not allowed to have a bedside manner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Usually you poke fun at the same time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could go back to that,” he returns, applying a bandage and stepping back. “Saving it all up for him, though. Think you’d mind fetching him for me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think I do, yeah,” she replies as she hops down from the table, shrugging into the shirt and jacket once more. She’s grateful that he took the hint and allowed the subject change. She doesn’t feel like contemplating it too deeply right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, got it, can you grab him anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go back to the being nice bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too late for that.” His hand catches her arm as she turns to go, and she looks back with a quizzical expression. “One thing, Gwen. You’ve got all the signs of both alcoholism and some sort of drug use. I’ll have to run blood tests, but you need to tell me if you feel anything strange.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aside from being in this body? Honestly, just figured anything weird was from that. Guess I do feel a bit buzzed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aside from that. Drink some water, tell me if anything changes.” He smiles at her as she  nods and makes her way back up the stairs, shaking his head. “And try not to fall on your face!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gwen can only roll her eyes at him as she moves over to the main area, glancing at John with nothing short of disdain before turning to Jack. “Owen wants to see him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll bet he does,” John comments, shrugging before moving nonchalantly towards the medbay. Jack shakes his head with a sigh, before resting a hand on her shoulder, a bit too deliberately for her tastes, as though his instinct is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not to touch.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Like that had </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> been Jack’s instinct.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You all right, Gwen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she replies, meeting his gaze solidly. For a moment, he hesitates, as though about to call her on her lie, before the sound of the door opening is heard, and they both turn to see Rhys standing there, uncertainly. “...right, you go talk to your husband.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she says, as he moves away and she turns to face Rhys fully, offering him an uncertain smile as she whispers under her breath, “my husband.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Medic & The Mercenary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>John Hart gets to meet Owen Harper properly. What he finds is not what he expects.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John makes his way down the stairs to the medbay in an almost lazy manner, hands cuffed in front of him as he goes. Boring, these handcuffs -- he could get out of them if he likes, given a few seconds, but Jack has to know that. What’s the point in all this, anyway? Dragged here under guard, treated like the enemy. As if he <em> wants </em> to be stuck in this body. He <em> quite </em> likes his own, thank you, and he looks forward to the moment he’s settled back in it safely. He’s simply making the best of a bad situation in trying to have some fun along the way - he can <em> hardly </em> be blamed for that, can he?</p><p>His footsteps echo down the stairs as he descends, and the doctor below glances up only briefly at him as he approaches. The ex-time agent sighs, loudly, knowing Jack is somewhere in earshot and will hear his protest. “Right, okay, let’s get this over with.”</p><p>There’s no answer as he moves over to the examination table, planting his hands on it and hopping up onto it, amused as his legs dangle. He swings them idly, canting his head at Owen. “Well? Did you find anything with her?”</p><p>“No.” Owen continues to make notes at the computer, which John cranes his neck to see.</p><p>“Nothing at all? Peak of physical health, obviously.”</p><p>“If you keep drinking like you do, your liver will fail within the decade.”</p><p>“That’s a shame, I liked that one,” he comments, shrugging. “Ah, well, that’s a problem to sort later. How’s she handling that?”</p><p>“None of your business,” Owen responds shortly, shaking his head before he approaches him, reaching out and taking his arm, still keeping his eyes on his work.</p><p>“Jesus,” John exclaims, flinching away briefly. “Your hands are <em> freezing. </em>”</p><p>“Keep still,” Owen mutters, fitting him with a blood pressure cuff. The displaced time agent sighs, shaking dark, unfamiliar bangs out of his face. He’s not used to long hair; he’d pulled it out of the way immediately to keep it from hindering him. Still, he’s constantly distracted by the dark strands that fall about his face, not that he can do much about it. It’s not an unsafe guess to assume Gwen Cooper would try to kill him again if he started hacking it all off. His gaze drifts upwards around the medical bay, noting that they had not, in fact, redecorated. <em> Boring. </em></p><p>“All good, Owen?”</p><p>Jack’s voice rings out across the area, and John looks up at the coated figure standing on the catwalk, flashing him a rakish smile. At least Jack’s usually down for <em> some </em>form of banter, even though it’s a far cry from the quick-witted report of their Agency days. He can’t help, still, that he reacts with excitement and intrigue when Jack arrives, even if only in the privacy of his own thoughts. Owen frowns, letting out an exasperated sigh as he, too, glances up at Jack. “Heart rate’s elevated,” he mutters, his eyes dropping to the watch he holds to time it.</p><p>Not-so-private, then.</p><p>“‘Course it is, have you <em> seen </em> him?” John lifts the hand not caught by Owen to waggle his fingers at Jack, batting his eyes as the captain braces his hands against the rail. Caught out, but far from ashamed.</p><p>“Flattered, as <em> always, </em>” the response is a conflicting mix of sarcasm and flirtation that brings a sigh from Owen and a further more confident grin from John. Despite his reservations, John knows that Jack feels a familiarity with him. He always will.</p><p>It’s why he keeps coming back.</p><p>“Be honest with me, Jack, do you like me better this way?” He leans back on the table, one arm braced behind him as he arches his back to push out his newly-found bosom, allowing dark hair to cascade over his shoulders as he bats large green eyes. Jack sighs, eyeing him warily over the railing before he shifts attention to Owen.</p><p>“Did you find anything with Gwen?”</p><p>“Aside from a debilitating drug and alcohol habit, she’s fine. Should watch for hangovers with her though, don’t need that on top of everything.”</p><p>“It’s far from debilitating, thank you. Sobriety doesn’t suit me.”</p><p>“You could use it as an opportunity to get used to it,” Jack commentates, and John rolls his eyes as Owen grasps his arm, readying it to draw blood. John runs the other hand over his own leg slowly, keeping eye contact with Jack.</p><p>“I could get used to a <em> lot </em> of things about this body, given the time--” He lets out a sharp hiss of air as the needle goes in a little too hard, and given how precise the doctor has been, he can only surmise it was purposeful. “ <em> Careful-- </em>” He reaches out, hand wrapping harshly around the doctor’s wrist, but the man still doesn’t look up.</p><p>“Can’t draw your blood if you don’t let go.” His tone is tense, along with his body, lips pulled into a thin line. He’s <em> angry, </em> John can see that easily enough. The annoyance from earlier has become a seething fury under the surface, just barely concealed under a mask of professionalism. Apparently comments about <em> Gwen Cooper’s body </em> can elicit that in him. Good to know…</p><p>His head cants, ignoring the blood now pooling in the crook of his arm from where he’d ripped Owen’s hand away from the needle, focusing instead on the freezing skin beneath his grasp. Doctor Harper’s wrist was in his hand, but underneath his clenched fingers, there was no <em> pulse. </em> And John has learned to find it quickly, in the heat of battle. There’s something wrong here. Owen Harper is <em> human, </em> that much he knows with certainty.</p><p>So why the <em> fuck </em> isn’t his heart beating?</p><p>“...what are you?” he murmurs, seeking some sort of clue in his expression. He expects silence, or irritation and snark, or for him to shrug it off until John forces a confession. He is <em> not </em> expecting the doctor to whirl, eyes dark and <em> oh so close, </em>his expression curling into a snarl that brings even the seasoned mercenary pause.</p><p>“<b>Dead.</b> ” The word hits like a blow to the chest, cold and harsh and unsettling in a way unexpected. <em> Dead, </em> he says, and there is a feeling of the grave to it, of earth and weight and the suffocation of a candle flame until it’s smothered into listless smoke. <em> Dead, </em> he says, and John can feel the ever-encroaching crawl of death on the back of his neck like a breath that never comes. <em> Dead, </em> he says, and John Hart believes it.</p><p>Owen remains there for a moment before ripping his arm away from John, holding his green gaze a moment longer, until the soldier is the first to look away, glancing to Jack. Whether he’s looking for explanation, understanding, or otherwise, he’s uncertain. The captain has stood, pushed away from the casual position he’d taken leaning upon the catwalk railing. His arms are crossed and fingers curled around his biceps as he watches the exchange. He says nothing, merely gazes at them, and John looks back to the undead doctor, who is now bandaging the bleeding wound where the needle had been. There will be no further clarification from either man, forever living or clinically dead.</p><p>“...right,” John returns, bewilderment clear in his tone, but he opts to stay silent after that, intrigued by the fury emanating off an otherwise unthreatening man. The second attempt to draw blood goes smoothly, and John holds still and remains docile until Owen finally steps back, pulling off his gloves and tossing them away.</p><p>“You’re done. Go.”</p><p>John nods, immediately hopping off the examination table, the chain link in the handcuffs concerningly small at this moment, before he makes his way back up the stairs to Jack at a quick pace. There’s a moment taken to appreciate the captain from this angle; he cuts a striking figure, doesn’t he? The jawline...</p><p>“What next?” He asks, and finds himself oddly relieved to be away from Owen, who is again ignoring his presence in favor of his work. Nothing like zombie doctors to unsettle a person, it seems. Jack watches the medic for a moment longer, a reverie John can’t quite read in his expression, before he turns to guide the man towards the stairs to his office, not touching, but ready to pounce should John move the wrong way.</p><p>“Next,” he intones, his voice suggesting there is no alternate solution, “you’re going to tell me <em> exactly </em> what happened.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All credit to cxptained for both Jack and Owen's characterization here while I pestered her about it endlessly. Owen being dangerous is a weak spot of mine, so maybe it doesn't have much to do with plot, but I wanted this. And in the world of ~self indulgence~, I get to do whatever I want! :D</p><p>Thank you ALL so much for your incredible comments and ongoing love for this fic. I promise, we'll get to the meat of the plot soon. On the way, I'm just exploring every dynamic I've never gotten to see the way I personally want it. Let me know your guesses on what exactly caused the swap?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Bad Coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rhys and Gwen deal with the effects of the swap.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No editing, we die like Torchwood Agents. Part of this was written while I was tipsy.</p><p>And yes, that's shade thrown at Almost Perfect lmao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gwen steps towards the entrance of the Hub hesitantly, her arms crossed over her chest. She can feel Rhys’ wariness emanating off of him as he looks her over, head to toe and back again, but he offers her an attempt at a smile as he lifts one hand, both clasped around disposable cups. “Brought you coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ianto doesn’t like outside coffee in the Hub,” she returned, stepping towards him with her own awkward smile, reaching out to take the cup from his hand. They both hesitate as their fingers brush, and Gwen clears her throat as she takes it, drawing unfamiliar touch away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he let me in, so I think he’s makin’ an exception. Unprecedented times an’ all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must have killed him to do it,” she comments, taking a sip of the coffee before nearly choking on it, grimacing as she pulls it away. “Oh, that’s yours.” An attempt to swap them out is made, but Rhys pulls back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, this is mine, I’ve already been drinkin’ it. Did they make it wrong?” He takes it from her to sip it, before he shakes his head and holds it out again. “Nah, that’s it. Cinnamon and all sugar, just like usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitates before nodding, taking the coffee once again and simply holding it, shifting her weight from foot to foot in an uncomfortable manner. “Right, well...taste buds.” There’s no further commentary on that, but Rhys’ expression falls, and he nods slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, ‘course, you wouldn’t -- anyway.” He clears his throat as he steps further into the Hub, glancing around to find where John is, watching as he and Jack disappear into the office on the second story. There’s a longing in his expression that sits with Gwen wrongly; she’s right </span>
  <em>
    <span>here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t she? He didn’t just marry those green eyes and that arse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So erm - John, he didn’t...didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?” She brushes the back of her hand over her forehead, a frequent nervous gesture somehow foreign to her now. Rhys takes a moment to answer, eyes lingering on the figure that now disappears behind a closed door, before he blinks as though coming out of a reverie, turning to face her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, ‘course not, he didn’t--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I have to ask, you didn’t…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Rhys looks mildly panicked for a moment, before her words click, and he shakes his head vigorously. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, nothin’ like that, promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence reigns for a moment, awkward and tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what did happen, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Nothin’, Gwen--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you were both naked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> were naked when we fell asleep!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you were both asleep when Jack got there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He bloody kissed me, Gwen, all right?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhys’ exclamation was louder than she expected, and she paused, shifting her weight backwards onto her heels for a moment as she adjusted to it. There’s no fear there; their arguments get loud and angry with a frequency that most would find concerning, but it’s simply how she and her husband live - emotions raw and close to the surface. It’s hardly a moment before she’s shifting her weight forward again, her expression screwing into a scowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> for worryin’ about you, while you were in there snogging a stranger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>stranger?!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gwen, that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> s’far as I knew!” Rhys gestures wildly, coffee sloshing through the slit in the plastic top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>second</span>
  </em>
  <span> assume anythin’ was wrong? He doesn’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>act</span>
  </em>
  <span> like me, you know!” Her arms are spread as if inviting an explanation, her volume rising to match his. Down in the medbay, the sounds of Owen moving things about pauses; she doesn’t care or bother to think about the rest of them. It simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t matter</span>
  </em>
  <span> to her; her whole life is falling apart about her and Torchwood can handle them through an argument.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>expect</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to think? S’not like I expected a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> to inhabit my wife’s body!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Torchwood, stranger things--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I know, stranger things have ‘appened, that’s all that happens in this </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> place!” They’re screaming at each other now, accents stronger and vowels rounding in their mutual anger and upset. “You come home injured all the time, or quiet and upset, you get pregnant at our </span>
  <em>
    <span>bloody weddin’,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’ve been shot - </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> been shot! There’s nothin’ that couldn’t happen here at any fuckin’ moment--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>NONE of that is my fault!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>BUT I DIDN’T EXPECT MY WIFE TO BE A FUCKING STRANGER!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall silent, heavy breaths echoing about the Hub, and Gwen looks down at the ground, lips pressed together as she swallows thickly. The coffee is rotated anxiously between hands unfamiliar to her as they remain quiet for a long while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just thought--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, that I’d know you from a kiss? That’s storybook shit, Gwen, that’s not possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe if I’d been expecting it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence reigns again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I did think something was off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her response is somewhat petty in tone. “Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Rhys nods, shifting his coffee from one hand to another as he wipes the spilled drink from his fingers onto his jeans. “He kissed me, and it wasn’t like I was used to, so I asked if you were all right, and then he - well, he convinced me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mister Cooper,” she repeats quietly, and he snorts. She isn’t certain if it’s out of embarrassment or derision. Perhaps both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Figured I was bein’ stupid, half-awake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make sense,” nodding, before she glances up at him from beneath long lashes (is it fair that John’s lashes are this long?).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And once more, they say nothing, the silence stretching between them like they’re a million miles apart instead of a scant few meters. Gwen wants to reach out, to touch him, to kiss his stupid face and hold him close as she does so often after arguments, in lieu of a verbal apology, but she can’t ignore the wary way he looks over this new body she inhabits. So instead she takes another sip of the coffee on instinct, grimacing and looking away irritably at the changed perception of taste, avoiding his gaze as she gazes about the Hub. This place is as much her home as her little shared flat with Rhys, and while it is familiar, she feels as though she is the piece that does not belong. It is coming home and realizing you’re too changed to fit in, it’s family but the sidelong stares and whispered conversations because you’re not what they remember. It’s trying to fit into a memory long past. But she’ll never fit in, not like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What happens if they can’t reverse this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just--” Rhys’ voice pulls her attention back to him, and she knows is mind is still on their altercation while hers has wandered. “S’not exactly the nicest feelin’, knowin’ some stranger waltzed into my bedroom and kissed me. What if Jack and Ianto hadn’t--” He shakes his head, and Gwen can feel her heart drop into her stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - god, I’m sorry, I’ve only been thinkin’ about me, and - you’re right, that’s a shit thing he did. I’m sorry, Rhys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s stupid. You’re the one stuck in that big lug’s body.” He offers her a weak smile, before he reaches out to take the coffee from her, setting it aside. “Who is he, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An old acquaintance of Jack’s.” It’s relieving, to have moved on from the shouting. Somewhere in the medbay, she can hear Owen moving about again. “He’s caused issues before, nothing we can’t handle.” The </span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing she wants to explain is how close he’d come to killing them all before, how the nights she woke up from dreams sweating and gasping as she flailed about, desperate to know she could move, were because of the man whose appearance she wore. Those dreams have long since passed, but she knows Rhys remembers all of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort of issues?” Rhys prods, and she shakes her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last time he was lookin’ for a diamond. Can’t be trusted, but we’ve got him well under control. I’ll just have to find out what he did to cause this, and we’ll swap back. Be right as rain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you will,” he murmurs, hesitating. It is then that his hand extends, uncertainly, for hers. “Come on, we can sit and figure this out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pauses, glances down at his hand before she slowly takes it in hers. John’s hand is too big for what they’re accustomed to; they spend a long moment trying to fit their hands together, before Rhys lets out a laugh. He takes her hand with his other, guiding it to interlace their fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There. That works. See? Already makin’ it better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always do,” she returns, pausing as she looks over him. Rhys hesitates, searching her blue gaze, before he seems to come to a firm decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you’re goin’ to kiss me, then kiss me. He’s got an uglier mug than you by far, but he’ll do for now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His commentary brings another laugh to the surface, and for a moment, Gwen doesn’t mind </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> as much that the voice is John’s. She leans in, cupping his face gently with her free hand (what an odd sight it makes, that palm against Rhys’ face), and presses her lips gently to his - only briefly, in a chaste manner, before she pulls back. Rhys blinks up at her, clearly somewhat uncertain of the experience, before he offers another smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t on the bucket list, I’ll admit, but it wasn’t bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s almost sweet,” she teases before leading him over to the couch in the Hub, squeezing his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi there, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> sweet.” He seats himself with her, still holding her hand. “It’s what makes you love me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of the many reasons,” she agrees, before inhaling deeply, glancing down. “I keep wondering, what happens if this doesn’t get swapped back soon? What if I’m like this for a bit, for…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Forever,</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the unspoken word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t. We’ll find a way. You’ve got your team, they love you. They won’t rest til they’ve got you back where you belong, and neither will I. You know what a stubborn bastard I can be when I want somethin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could never forget.” The half-smile she rewards his words with is uncertain and nervous, but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>tries</span>
  </em>
  <span> to keep up a brave face all the same. “We’ve just go to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gwen, Owen!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s voice sounds from upstairs, and Gwen startles, standing and pulling Rhys with her until they could look up to the open second story to see their captain leaning over the railing. “Jack? What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His tone is grim and his expression tight as he answers, gesturing for them both and Owen’s recently appeared form to join him upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Toshiko’s found something.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Tunnels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>John comes to terms with the events of the swap.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door of Jack’s office slides closed, the sound of it seeming to echo within John’s mind, though the reality of it does not aloud. It’s a moment; a marker of a happenstance long awaited.</p><p>He’s alone with Jack Harkness.</p><p>He glances around Jack’s office, takes in the safe built into the wall and the hole in the ground with a ladder that led down to...where? Something to be discovered, he supposes. He steps across the room (there are more steps than expected to get there, he’s constantly forgetting he’s lost a good five inches off of his height) to brace his hands behind him against the edge of the sturdy wooden desk and hop up onto it. One leg dangles as he leans back on one hand and hooks the other around the corner of the desk at the knee - an overtly casual pose that takes control of where they’re positioned within the room. He’s inhabiting a smaller form, so body language is important. He can’t best Jack in sheer size or strength - but they both know that doesn’t mean much. Their game has always been one both verbal and mental on top of physical.</p><p>And this plays out as Jack hesitates, his gaze narrowing for a moment before he simply sighs in acquiescence. He closes the distance between them to an extent, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a solid stance just out of arm’s reach, an indication of the way he’s bracing himself mentally. His fingers curl around his biceps, like he’s holding himself. Has he always done that, John wonders? No - no, he’s certain he hasn’t always. It’s defensive, where the Jack he had spent so many years with had always been aggressive. He wasn’t even called <em> Jack, </em> then.</p><p>Well, they’ve both changed since then, haven’t they? He wasn’t <em> John </em> then, either. These names were masks, as were so many they’d taken before. It was almost more <em> natural </em> to pick up new pseudonyms than to reach back to their roots.</p><p>“Don’t you ever move anything around in here?” John wonders idly aloud in lieu of voicing his thoughts, looking around the area with an expression of mild interest at best. “Change <em> is </em> the spice of life, you know.” His verdant gaze brings a mock sincerity to his expression as he nods once, lips pursed and eyebrows raised in an impetuous mask that seems displaced on those features, so loved by this team and their captain.</p><p>“Tell me what happened,” Jack orders, rather than rising to meet the bait of his banter. An explosive sigh falls from the time agent’s lips as he lets his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. The long ponytail brushes against the muscles along his spine,, and he’s caught on the idea of the <em> impracticality </em> of having hair this long. What if someone grabbed it in a fight? Although in the bedroom, it might be more <em> fun </em> ...right, the other man has asked him a question. <em> Focus, </em> John.</p><p>“Right to business, hmm? You used to be more <em> fun, </em> Jack.”</p><p>“Yeah, that kinda changes when one of your agents ends up in someone else’s body. Come on, I’m not kidding around.”</p><p>Green eyes roll around in a perfect half-circle, before he lazily turns his head to stare at the captain across his shoulder, chin brushing the decorative embroidery that sits atop the deep red of his jacket.. “<em> Fine, </em> fine, I’ll tell you what happened.” Jack raises his eyebrows, waiting in clear impatience, and another drawn-out exhale is given in excessive dramaticism before he begins. “I only got here <em> yesterday. </em> I’d just come off a Gunnar ranger unit, disbanded after we’d finished the op.”</p><p><em> Gunnar. </em> He spies the moment that the name registers in Jack’s blue eyes before they narrow; John ignores the criticism. Gunnars were known for being ruthless and chaotic, disregarding all for the sake of finishing the job and gaining the promised reward. It’s <em> exactly </em> why John had joined up. It’s been a while since he’s misbehaved.</p><p>“Anyway, I stopped by Earth for some fun. I found a bar, immediately got hammered, met a couple of locals on the dance floor. Let me tell you, humans around here <em> really </em> know how to--”</p><p>“Yeah, I know you ended up in bed with them, Gwen woke up there.” Jack snaps at him, and he blinks, a frown drawing his brows together.</p><p>“That’s all I’ve got to tell you, but you asked for the details.”</p><p>“What was the Gunnar op for?”</p><p>“You know their rules around <em> confidentiality, </em> Jack--”</p><p>“What was the <em> op </em> for?”</p><p>John sits up fully, scowling as he leans forward, palms pressed to the wooden desk on either side of him. As he stares at the other man, his expression is nothing short of <em> offended. </em> “It was a simple smash and grab, Jack, <em> please. </em>”</p><p>“What did you take?”</p><p>“Crown <em> jewels. </em> ” Irritation is equal in measure in both men’s voices, and John scowls further. “It was a heist, all right? A team of four, I was point man. I got in, grabbed the jewels, got out.” A moment passes, before his signature smirk reappears. “Handed the loot off to the buyer, got my money, jumped directly <em> here. </em>”</p><p>“And is there a chance someone followed you? Came after you?”</p><p>“And got their revenge by putting me in <em> this </em> incredible body--?” He snatches his hand back as Jack reaches out to slap it away from its intended tangent to Gwen’s chest, rolling green eyes in annoyance. “No, you know I’m careful.” The clear doubt and distrust in the glance he is rewarded with is clear, and he falls silent for a moment before shaking his head. “ <em> Honestly, </em> Jack, you <em> really do </em> blame me for everything, don’t you? Can’t get it in your head that maybe I’m not at fault for <em> once? </em>”</p><p>“You usually have a hand in it.” Jack goes back to his crossed-arm stance, staring down at John.</p><p>“I’m a <em> victim </em> here,” he protests, though that smirk remains just barely visible through the exaggeration of a <em> wounded </em> expression, held there by the slightest of quirks of his lips. It’s a habit. He doesn’t let it fall.</p><p>“Yeah, you seem to be really distressed,” he returns, and John shrugs.</p><p>“I’m making the best of things.” As he always does.</p><p>“Meanwhile, my team is here trying to fix <em> your </em> screw up,” comes the sharp response, and John’s snarky reply is cut off by the sudden ringing of Jack’s mobile. “You - stay there.” It’s an order not meant to be disobeyed as he answers the phone quickly, stepping over to the door and slipping out of it to take the call privately. John is most certainly going to disobey it. He waits no more than a second before stepping over to the door, peeking out. He knows Jack’s pacing manner, learned from years of watching the man, of knowing him like the back of his own hand. The con man waits until the other’s back is turned to dart out and silently make his way along the catwalk in the shadows, taking a set of stairs down and darting off into the darkness that is the lower levels of Torchwood. <em> Ever vigilant, this team. </em></p><p>Behind him, he can hear Jack’s voice echo as he shouts, “Gwen, Owen! Toshiko’s found something.”</p><p>————</p><p>Long has a curiosity resided in John Hart about the depths of the Torchwood Hub. Why wouldn’t it? He’s been locked out from it, forbidden from exploring the winding underground tunnels beneath the home of the man he used to know so well and loves. But now, confronted as he is with the chance to explore free of prying eyes and on his own, he finds curiosity is the <em> last </em> thing on his mind.</p><p>He’s simply trying to get <em> away. </em></p><p>With every evenly paced step further below ground, he feels as though the walls are closing in on him, the dim emergency lighting serving only to outline the path ahead and his own feet. No, not <em> his </em> feet, not his legs or his body that wanders deeper into the Torchwood base, <em> Gwen Cooper’s. </em></p><p>He feels the pressure that is gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, feels her fingernails cutting into her palms, feels the way the air can’t quite make it into her lungs correctly, how it’s squeezing, squeezing, <em> squeezing </em> --</p><p>“<em> John! </em>”</p><p>Jack’s discovered his absence.</p><p>John breaks into a run.</p><p>“<em> John, where are you? </em>”</p><p>The voice follows him, echoing around him as he races headlong deeper into the tunnels, running to escape the sound. He just needs a few minutes - a few minutes of <em> space. </em> Space, that’s right, just some space. A bit of quiet to think. Dark. Quiet. Space. He’s like a burrowing animal seeking safety in its den, he thinks distantly, though the comparison holds a grim tone in his mind. Only this den isn’t his, it could hold anything, any sort of predator ahead of him, and he’s being smoked out from the entrance.</p><p>Oh, they’ll find him, Torchwood will. They always do, don’t they? And they’ll lock him in one of their cells, and mock him for running down instead of trying to get away, and they’ll question him and pin the fault of this whole endeavor on him. He doesn’t think they’ll hurt him, <em> no </em> - even if they did, he could handle it. Torture isn’t anything new to the con man - he’s been on the wrong side of near-maddening pain more than his share. But Jack’s team is at stake, and the very thought of it brings a terrifying chill running down his spine. He <em> knows </em> what Jack is capable of.</p><p>The question is, <em> what does Gwen Cooper mean to him? </em></p><p>He doesn’t realize how shallowly he’s breathing until he stumbles into a wall, his shoulder impacting heavily against the cold stone. “Shit,” he mumbles, realizing he’s hyperventilating. His face is fuzzy. It’s hard to think. That fucking <em> voice, </em> it’s not his own! It’s not his, it’s <em> hers, </em> that bastard woman, it’s probably <em> her </em> fault that this has happened.</p><p>He shoves himself off the wall and down another corridor, no longer aiming for silence but simply <em> distance. </em> He doesn’t know how far down he’s gone, but he’ll keep going, maybe there <em> is </em> a way out down below. But no, no, his body is here, he wants it back. He’ll take her with him, yes, he’ll take her until he can figure it out, send her back once they’ve swapped back where they belong. He’s overwhelmed her before - he’s smaller now, but he can do it again. Just have to get past Torchwood, past the team, past <em> Jack-- </em></p><p>
  <b>Dead end.</b>
</p><p>In the dim lighting, he can only barely make out the outline of a door, near-rusted shut with age, and locked. Frantic hands scrabble at the latch, but it doesn’t budge, and he kicks it with a shout of mixed frustration and rage. It echoes, an unfamiliar and haunting keen.</p><p>He turns, then, bracing his palms against the stone walls in the corner, head bowed as his chest heaves. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t <em> fix </em> this, and what if it doesn’t end? What if he’s stuck like this? What if there’s no going back?</p><p>A distant part of him notes that he’s good under pressure, so what the hell is <em> this </em> reaction? The breathing, the running, the <em> fear? </em> It’s not fear, it can’t be. He’s faced situations worse than <b>this</b> before . . . so much <em> worse. </em> Death, torture, hunger, pain. So why... <em> why? </em></p><p>It has to be this body. Something’s wrong with the physical reactions in Gwen’s body.</p><p>Or the fucking <em> sobriety. </em> It’s like someone’s shining a light in his eyes constantly, and he can’t get away from it. Everything’s too sharp, too clear, too <em> strong. </em> He needs a drink. They’ve got to have alcohol somewhere in this place, right?</p><p>He doesn’t realize he isn’t alone until it’s too late - until there’s a low voice just over his shoulder, startling him.</p><p>“John.”</p><p>He spins, heart <em> slamming </em> against his ribcage and hands curling into fists. He reaches for one of the many guns he is accustomed to carrying on his person on instinct; when he finds nothing, his hand clenches around empty air.</p><p>“Jack.” The name is spat out through gritted teeth, tense and low. There’s a brief flash of cautious assessment in those blue eyes, and the intruder inhales shallowly. Gauging his words, he does that, John knows that.</p><p>“Normally, you’d have known I was coming a mile off.”</p><p>“Maybe her hearing isn’t that good.”</p><p>“Why’d you come down here?” There’s something more to that question - more than the obvious, <em> you can’t get out down this way, </em> more than the accusing <em> were you looking for trouble </em> he’s accustomed to getting from Jack. No - he’s calculating John’s response, looking him over in a manner that is fading from wary to understanding. Understanding <em> what? </em> He knows that lifted chin, those pursed lips, that piercing gaze. <em> What is it he’s seeing that John doesn’t know? </em> He wants to <em> scream, </em> to demand answers. He won’t. He never lets down his guard around <em> these people, </em> even if it includes Jack. Who knows who else is watching? He hadn’t seen a camera, but he has to assume they’re everywhere down here, able to see in the dim lighting.</p><p>“Exploring. Looking for weapons.” He spits out the response, knowing he’s fallen far short of the target of nonchalance he is aiming for. He shrugs anyway, shoving hands into the pockets of the jeans he wears. His thoughts are still too loud, too frenetic. A million plans are whirling in his mind, and he realizes his breath is coming quickly and unevenly. Well, that’s just the adrenaline of being startled, isn’t it? Of course it is.</p><p>“Yeah, okay.” It’s strange that Jack doesn’t question it, and John’s gaze narrows, but he remains where he is. He feels backed into a corner, with Jack standing between him and the exit back to the main passageway. Gwen’s body is still malfunctioning; he feels like he can hear his pulse echoing around him, and it’s getting harder to pretend nothing’s happening as Jack speaks again. “Listen, I need you to breathe deeply and evenly. You’re hyperventilating.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Come on, just take a deep breath in.” He steps closer then, a hand reaching out towards the time agent, but John jerks away despite himself. His back impacts with the metal door behind him with enough force to cause pain, but he ignores it, watching as the captain pulls his hand back with wary eyes.</p><p>“I know how to <em> breathe, </em> Jack,” is the snapped response, and the captain sighs.</p><p>“Just trust me on this one, okay?” He says it like he always has, like he knows what he’s doing. Once upon a time, it would have elicited more worry. The boy John had recruited to the Time Agency was brash, bold, <em> stupid. </em> Talented, but stupid. His partner back then hadn’t helped - it was a precaution that John took missions with him in the end. Now when he says it, he’s changed. He’s steady, assured, confident. There’s a gravitas and a weight of knowledge and experience behind those words.</p><p>John doesn’t know which he prefers.</p><p>“Why should I?” The words are hissed out between clenched teeth before he knows what he’s saying. “You don’t trust <em> me. </em> You assume it’s my fault, Jack, your assumption is <em> always </em> that it’s <em> my bloody fault! </em> ” He can see how taken aback the other is, and it feels good, for a change, not to be looked at with wariness and disappointment. He doesn’t stop. “You think I’d do this? On my own? That I’d give up <em> my body </em> to a woman who wants me dead? That I’d put myself in this situation, which makes everything in my life that much more dangerous? And for what, Jack, to snog her pasty husband and get a rise out of you?” His volume raises, now rebounding off the walls as though mocking him in the way his words sound coming out of Gwen’s mouth. “Think about it! I’m in your bloody base, it’s not like I couldn’t have done it another way. If I wanted to get your attention, it certainly wouldn’t be in <em> this </em> fucking body, you think I <em> want </em> you thinking about her? If this were me, I’d have swapped with Eye Candy, <em> think </em> about it. But it’s not me, because I didn’t do it. Because you all treat her as if she’s <em> glass, </em> as if she’s something precious to be saved, and what am I, Jack? A body to be preserved? I’d expect this from your team, don’t give a <em> shit </em> about what they think, but not from <em> you, </em> with your pious and mighty <b>morals.</b>”</p><p>He <em> growls </em> the last bit, and it’s a long moment before he realizes he’s moved, and he has Jack’s great coat by the lapels, and he’s shoved Jack against a wall, and Jack just...lets him. He doesn’t fight, or protest, or argue. He simply <em> stares, </em> and there is a sadness in his blue eyes that John is far from unfamiliar with.</p><p>“...I’m sorry,” he says finally, and brings his hands up to rest against John’s shoulders. They’re so much larger from this vantage, and he wants to shake them off. Instead, he remains frozen, glaring up at the man with all the fury and intensity of <em> hate </em> that fear can bring, shining out of emerald eyes. “I’m sorry, John. I should have considered this was scary for you, too.”</p><p>“Yeah.” It’s quiet, it’s <em> weak. </em> Jack Harkness will always put his team first - John had spent months drinking and killing and fucking his way around a galaxy to let that idea settle in his brain. The boy who looked at <em> Captain John Hart </em> like he set the planets into motion was gone, and replaced by a man who sees him for what he <em> is. </em></p><p>A heartless criminal.</p><p>“I know I should have.”</p><p>Silence rings through the dim corridors until John feels his head might explode. It takes a moment to recognize that his breathing’s returned to normal. It’s a pity, that - Jack might have let him take a swing if he wanted. It’d feel good, Gwen’s knuckles against that chiseled jaw.</p><p>John is the first to break eye contact - he’s showed his hand, rather than played his cards close to his chest. He’s revealed the aching, screaming <em> fear </em> that sits in his chest, and while he’d <em> hated </em> the way Jack looks at him with distrust, he finds he prefers the familiarity of it to the concern and caution he’s seeing now.</p><p>“Right, well, enough of <em> that </em> blathering. Takes some adjustment, getting used to hormones, I’d guess.” Right, yes, it’s Gwen’s fault, it’s her body, her hearing, breathing, chemical imbalances. Her sobriety. Captain John Hart would never feel or say such things.</p><p>He releases Jack’s coat, and smooths it with his hands.. He steps back. The mask settles into place. “You said Toshiko found something. Haven’t seen her yet, she’s been retracing my steps, then?”</p><p>“...not exactly.” There’s a reluctance in that response, in Jack’s expression -- John doesn’t react, simply stepping back and settling his weight into one leg, hip cocked and head canted. Relaxed. Intrigued. Seemingly at ease, though they both know better. “She went to scan Gwen’s flat and the room you were in. Your bedmates--”</p><p>“Right, yeah, the brunet and the pretty little blonde, I remember.” There’s an easy smirk on his lips, and Jack ignores it.</p><p>“Mark and Starling.” Their names are over-enunciated, and that disapproving note is back. Good. Jack can disapprove of him all he likes, as long as he doesn’t watch him break again. “Someone came looking for you, John.” He frowns, crosses his arms in that same defensive manner again as he looks down at the man. In the dim lighting, his eyes are hooded, more ominous as he looks down. There is a weight to his words, to his presence, and despite himself, John can feel the serious nature of his concern when he speaks once again. “And when they didn’t find you, they took them instead.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Withdrawal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: drug withdrawal</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Toshiko’s found something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The news that there is information to be given starts Gwen’s heart to beating just that much faster, and she starts for the stairs immediately. Her hand remains tangled in Rhys’, and she all but drags him along with her, not yet accounting for an increased strength in this body. He stumbles with a protest, and she pauses to look back at him apologetically, before they make their way up the stairs together. It’s in the climb to the top that Gwen finds herself realizing more and more that John’s body is, indeed, inebriated - there is a background buzz in her head that makes her ever so slightly unsteady, and her free hand wraps tightly around the railing until she and Rhys join Jack on the catwalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Owen is only seconds behind them, bounding up the steps from the medbay and not slowing until he has joined the group, where Jack holds up his mobile and sets it to speakerphone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right Tosh, give us what you’ve got.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m at the hotel room Gwen woke up in</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Tosh begins immediately, rustling about as she moves, the quiet beep of a scanner clear in the background of the call. “This place is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It did seem like a bit of a wild night,” Gwen answered, and there’s a moment of hesitation on the other end of the line. In the split second it takes for her to adjust to Gwen’s newfound voice, Rhys simply squeezes her hand more tightly, not once releasing her. She returns the pressure, grateful, as she keeps her gaze steady on the phone, rather than looking up at the others listening in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, that’s you, Gwen,” Tosh seems to be confirming it to herself rather than anyone else on the call, before a short breath is taken on her end and she continues. “No, it’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The furniture’s torn up, tossed all over. I don’t see a sign of your bedfellows anywhere, maybe they left before this happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t pretty, but there wasn’t anything like that when I left,” Gwen muses, and now she </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> look up at the others, a deep frown furrowing her expression as she glances from one face to the other. At this close proximity, it becomes apparent that each of them are continually adjusting to this face, and she realizes they are all within inches of each other, huddled over the phone itself. She pulls back, clearing her throat as she releases Rhys’ hand, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back against the railing, adjusting long legs out in front of her. Owen shifts to the side, opening their circle to still include her, a wordless acceptance of the move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks like it was done on purpose. Looking for something, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jack questions, shaking his head. “If either of those two wanted something from John, they had all night. And Gwen - you didn’t take anything, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just his clothes. Maybe that man’s shirt. That’s it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing in the pockets?” Owen is next to question, and she unfolds her arms, shoving hands deep into the pockets of the faded blue jeans that still cling tightly to her frame. “Erm - I’ve got a cigarette and - well, pills, dunno what they are, but nothing else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Owen leans over as she displays the pills in the palm of her hand, before shaking his head. “Nah, those aren’t anything special. Uppers, not dangerous. He probably got them off the other two, they’re clearly human. And erm-” He picks one up, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like an assist to me. Has John got problems keeping it up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the amount of alcohol he seems to have ingested, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Gwen doesn’t bother to poke fun or make a joke there’s other, more important issues to be dealt with. She can feel a slow unsteadiness making its way into her veins, and her grip on the railing tightens. It’s likely the alcohol slowly dissipating from her system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, well, nothing they’d rip the room apart looking for. Nothing strong enough here to do that for.” There’s no question as to his expert opinion, and Tosh speaks up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like something’s picked up the bed and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrown</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. I’m shocked management hasn’t come in, regardless of how...rowdy this must be on the regular.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No other readings? Rift or otherwise?” Jack interjects, and lets out a sigh when her response comes back negative. “Okay, keep looking. There’s got to be something there that we’re missing. Nothing came up at Gwen’s place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Toshiko confirms, her movement in the background still audible in bits and pieces. “Whoever came here, they didn’t go near Gwen’s flat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a relief,” Rhys interjects, and three heads turn to him, as though surprised he’s spoken at all, and he frowns at them. “How come they knew to look there, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Tosh replied, and there is the sound of a doorknob being rattled. “I’m worried that-” The door opens, and there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span> an effeminate, panicked scream that echoes through the speaker, bringing a start to each of the four standing in the Hub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tosh!” All three Torchwood agents echo her name, but a moment later, a new voice filters through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t, I’m sorry - I don’t know anythin’, I don’t know what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> me-!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to hurt you.” Tosh’s familiar tones return, and a silent breath of relief is released from each of those listening in as they hear the calm way she speaks. The scream was not from her. “It’s okay, I’m here to help. Are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Toshiko?” Jack lowers his voice, but still urges for answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s that?” The woman questions, and a quizzical frown touches Gwen’s expression once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that the girl?” She whispers so as not to be heard, before she realizes no one there would know the answer. “The girl I woke up next to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my friend. I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?” Tosh continues, her tone calm, and the other responds with a panicked, muffled sob for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I -- Starling. M’name’s Starling Lewis.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gazes turn to Gwen, and she nods, eyes wide before she returns to staring at the phone, as though somehow, it will give her the answers she desires.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Starling, I’m Toshiko. I’m with Torchwood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Torchwood? That weird cop thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that. Can you tell me what happened? Here, hang on--” There’s a prolonged rustling, the clatter of the phone being set down, and then a moment later, it’s picked up again. “There, that’ll keep you warm. What happened here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - I dunno,” the tearful woman responds, her breathing heavy. “I was ‘ere, with this guy I met last night, Mark. We’d come here with someone else, but he left really abruptly. Mark and I - well, the room was paid for til noon, so we stayed a bit, were goin’ to go get coffee. I came in here to freshen up, and when I was in here, I hear the door burst in, and a lot of yelling. Mark’s shouting, and there’s so much crashing, and I just - I hid in the shower, I didn’t know what else to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Someone opened the door but didn’t look in, and then they left and...I’ve been in here ever since, but Mark -- they took him, didn’t they? They took Mark!” She dissolves into sobs, and the agents in the Hub stare at each other in confusion and a rising concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on, I’m going to get him,” Jack murmurs, handing the phone off to Owen before he turns back to his office. It’s only a moment that he’s through the door that he returns, his expression hard. Owen immediately mutes the line, raising an eyebrow in question. It’s answered only a moment later when Jack shouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“John!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you’ve bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>lost</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.” Gwen shoves herself off the railing, scowling, an expression which Jack returns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>find</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. You all stay here. Someone get Ianto.” He turns on his heel and takes off at a run down the catwalk and towards the stairs, shouting as he goes. Owen sighs, before unmuting the mobile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tosh, bring Starling here, will you? I’ll look her over, make sure she’s safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Tosh responds quickly, her voice raised over the hysterical crying in the background. “Be there soon.” The line goes dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long silence as they glance around at each other, before a collective sigh is given.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This just keeps getting weirder,” Owen finally says, before he shakes his head and starts towards the stairs. “I’ll go get Ianto.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Rhys and Gwen remain where they are as Owen disappears, his footsteps fading as he exits the main part of the Hub. It is not until they’re alone that Gwen heaves a sigh, leaning her back against the railing as long fingers grip the top bar on either side of her. She looks up at Rhys, offering him a humorless smile. “You know you don’t have to stay, darling. You can spend some time at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a chance, Gwen. You’re in the middle of a crisis and I’ll not be sittin’ at home alone on the couch, twiddlin’ my thumbs and staring at the telly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s not as though they’re goin’ to let me do much here, and I’ve just…” There is a headache forming rapidly behind her eyes, and she squeezes the bridge of her nose eyes falling shut. Her limbs are beginning to feel shaky; she figures it’s the fact that she’s sobering. She can only hope for a hangover, but...she’s worried, as it were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gwen?” Rhys’ voice floats into her peripheral attention, and she lets out a soft grunt of acknowledgement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry, just...not feelin’ so well, I don’t…” She’s been so focused on the matters at hand that standing still now feels as though the catwalk is rocking beneath her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey - what’s wrong?” Strong hands come to rest at her waist, and she releases the strong pressure against her skull to look up at Rhys. He’s not quite that much taller than her now, but he’s still got a few inches on her. The sensation of looking up into his concerned gaze is a comforting one, appreciated in the whirlwind of change she’s been thrown into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - I just don’t feel well, Rhys, my head hurts and I’m all shaky.” She blinks, squinting against the light. “I’ve thought it was just a hangover, but somethin’ feels worse than that.” She rests  a hand against his chest, and Rhys frowns, immediately closing his over hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gwen, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>shakin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> like a leaf in the wind. D’you think it’s a side effect of the switch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head helplessly, but the motion throws her slightly more off balance, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “Owen - erm, Owen said he had all the signs of a serious drug addiction, he…” She inhaled slowly, letting it out. “My cousin, Aeron, he had a drug problem at one point. I’ve seen him through a few rehabs, I…this feels like what I’ve seen him go through.” She inhales shakily, shoving herself up off of the railing and finding herself far more unbalanced than expected. Rhys’ arms close about her, keeping her upright, and for a moment, she simply rests her forehead against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t miss the way he goes stiff against her touch, and she can hardly blame him. She looks and feels nothing like herself. But on the same note, she doesn’t miss the way he doesn’t release her, either, still supporting her weight, still keeping her close. What had she done to deserve a man like him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is only goin’ to get worse if you’re goin’ through withdrawal,” he murmurs quietly, before shifting, helping her further upright and pulling her arm over his shoulders, keeping a tight grasp about her waist. “Let’s get you some water and have you lie down, all right? We can talk to Owen--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to go through this, Rhys.” Her tone is more desperate than she means to allow, but it is truthful nevertheless. “I - god, I hate this body, I hate this whole thing, I don’t want to go through withdrawal because he’s a wreck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he whispers quietly, moving them both towards the staircase and making their careful way down it, adjusting his grasp on her to keep her upright. “I’ll - I’ll find somethin’ to make it better, all right, lovely? I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen knows there’s no easy way to fix this - she knows there is no manner in which this disappears easily. But she knows the experience is as terrifying and unsettling for him as it is for her, and so she simply accepts it with a nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She collapses onto the sofa the moment they reach it, and Rhys finds a cover to throw over her. It’s far from the first time she’s passed out on this surface in the Hub. A water bottle is pressed into her hand, and she manages a few sips before she simply buries her head under the covers, feeling Rhys’ lips touch her head gently. “I’ll be back,” he promises softly, and she simply nods. His retreating footsteps signal her solitude, and Gwen simply allows frustrated, pained tears to slip from beneath her eyelids. She’s going to murder John Hart at the end of this, she decides. It’s the one thought that helps her feel even a modicum better as she slips into a fitful sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this was a slower chapter, but the next one is going to be a bit of a deviation from the norm, and full of hijinks! Thanks for waiting so long, I hope to have the next one up soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Rhys and Ianto's Excellent Drug Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“So, I figured there’s at least no harm in askin’ -- Ianto, do you know where I can buy crack to give to my wife?”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The worry that settles deep into Rhys’ chest as he leaves his suffering wife on the sofa in the main area of the Hub eclipses most of the sheer insanity of the situation. It all faded away: the fact that his wife is in a man’s body, or that said man was in his wife’s form, or that he’d been nearly intimate with that same man, or...or...or…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a single bit of it mattered, because Gwen is suffering, and if there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing that Rhys Williams does well, it’s looking after his wife. Sure, he’d need a pint or five after this was done, and some serious discussion with Gwen, but for now he’d shove it away. Damn the fact that she looked like a stranger to him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> like a stranger to him. He knew her. Rhys would know Gwen at the end of the universe, looking like anything. He’d fucked it up that morning for certain, but there was no doubt of who his wife </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> was when she’d arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was it. She was his wife. Everything else was secondary.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For better or for worst, mate,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he told himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You knew Torchwood might get scary.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pulled out of his reverie when he hears footsteps, grey eyes lifting to find that of the man he was seeking -- Owen Harper. Their doctor. If anyone could fix this in any way considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>legal, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’d be him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, mate?” He says by way of greeting, and they meet just outside the large rolling cog the team calls their front door. “Got a favor to ask you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Owen, to his credit, has seemed rather calm in all this. Perhaps it was just his demeanor in an emergency; Rhys had never spent too much time around him. As the shorter man pauses to look at him questioningly, offering only a quiet “yep?” that makes it clear he has things on his mind, Rhys lowers his voice to avoid the echoes that this bunker seems to bring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I think Hart was high off some </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> illegal substances when they swapped, and Gwen’s goin’ through the beginnin’s of withdrawal. I’ve only seen it a couple of times -- had a mate of mine with some issues, y’know -- but I think it’s only goin’ to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Is there any way you can help her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sigh escapes Owen, and he nods. “I was running her bloodwork when we got the phone call. Looks like John was drunk and high off of some substances I don’t really recognize, probably alien. Their structure’s pretty close to pretty hard drugs we’ve seen here. Like extra-terrestrial cocaine, essentially. Now, I can give her something like opioids, but that’s not going to do much more than take the edge off. I’m afraid Gwen’s in for a rough go of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re Torchwood, there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> chance you can give her something harder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can give her a sedative, Rhys,” he responds with a bit of an edge to his tone. His hands drift from the pockets of his white lab coat to rest on the bars of the odd entryway cage, back to his pockets. Rhys gets the impression that he’s not quite used to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing something with his hands. “But I’m a doctor. I’m not shooting her up, if that’s what you’re asking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhys, for the moment, is inclined to argue, and he feels his jaw tense and his shoulders square. “So what, she’s just goin’ to suffer? Because that </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard</span>
  </em>
  <span> in there that stole her body is a junkie?” His voice starts to raise, but he lowers it sharply as he realizes Gwen may hear him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to take </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span> of her, Rhys.” Owen’s voice is hard, but he doesn’t make any effort to rise to the same volume. “I know you’re worried, but she’s in my hands. We’ll get her through this.” He sighs, shaking his head, as he starts into the Hub, clearly ending their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait--” Rhys holds up a hand to stop him, and Owen turns back, brows raising in anticipation of another excuse. “Just -- where’s Ianto?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tourist’s office. Said he’d be down in a minute.” He doesn’t bother to question Rhys, which is a relief, and the doctor leaves then, as Rhys continues on his path. Right. If Owen won’t help, Rhys is going to go to someone who will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he enters the office, it’s not an unfamiliar feeling. Ianto has been there to let him in and out of the Hub every time he’s visited; he’s not certain how he has time with the other Torchwood duties required of him. According to Gwen, he’s sort of a catch-all for a variety of tasks around the place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ianto,” he greets him, trying to keep his tone level. Ianto emerges from the back room through a beaded curtain (Rhys has never quite understood that curtain), and offers him that customary polite smile of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rhys. What can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhys and Ianto haven’t spent a lot of time together - only in group settings, when Gwen drags him out with the rest of the team. The most time they’ve spent in close proximity alone was the time they were both caught by those bloody whale people. It’s not a close relationship, they share, but they do have </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> very important thing in common: Gwen. Rhys knows how close his wife is with the young welshman, and how highly she thinks of him. And given that Ianto </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> handle so much for Torchwood, he feels like the next logical choice to ask for help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s about Gwen -- seems she’s erm, she’s runnin’ into some complications with the swap thing.” He pauses, searching for a response, and Ianto is silent for the moment, simply watching him with a reserved look in those blue eyes of his. Finally, after a moment, he speaks, if only to break the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Right,</span>
  </em>
  <span> yes, well, seems that Hart’s got a bit of a drug habit. His body’s comin’ down off some sort of high, and it’s makin’ her miserable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, right.” Ianto nods, his lips thinning into a straight line as he turns to set to rights the already impeccably organized desk. “I’m not surprised, seein’ as it’s John. Have you spoken with Owen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep, I have, he’s of the opinion that there’s not much he can do to help. Says there’s something in her system like </span>
  <em>
    <span>alien cocaine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Refuses to give her anything strong enough to keep her level, at least until we can find a way to swap them back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to assume it’s the careful way he’s phrasing things that catches Ianto’s attention, and the younger turns to look at him more fully, a clear query in his expression. “And you’ve come to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> now because...?” It’s a prompt if Rhys has ever heard one. The worst the man can do is say </span>
  <em>
    <span>no,</span>
  </em>
  <span> now can’t he? He inhales deeply, and nods. Right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I figured there’s at least no </span>
  <em>
    <span>harm</span>
  </em>
  <span> in askin’ -- Ianto, do you know where I can buy coke to give to my wife?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence falls between the two men, crystal gaze locked on hazel, and for a long moment, Rhys feels his heart sink. Ianto’s going to reject him out of hand, or scoff at the mere idea. Gwen’s already miserable as it is, and that meant he’d have left her alone, even for a few moments, for nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...yep, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nod that accompanies Ianto’s response sends Rhys’ eyebrows upwards, and shock filters into both his tone and expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? You do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Give me a few minutes, I’ll make some calls.” He pulls out his phone, turning to head into the back room. Rhys stands there, uncertain, as Ianto disappears. He can simply do that? He’d hedged his bets on Ianto being able to find </span>
  <em>
    <span>out,</span>
  </em>
  <span> not just immediately call a drug dealer. What exactly was going on? Did Ianto do hard drugs? He’s speechless for a moment, alone with his questions, before he shakes himself back to the present and finally calls out after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, thanks, mate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Cardiff wind is brisk and chill as the two men walk at a fast pace down the sidewalks of the downtown area. The ride there had been relatively silent in the SUV, with Ianto’s eyes on the road and Rhys’ head spinning with the amount of questions he wants to ask of the other. It’s not until the </span>
  <em>
    <span>TORCHWOOD</span>
  </em>
  <span>-branded car is parked and left a fair distance behind that Rhys finally manages to put his thoughts into words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So -- so how d’you know how to find people like this? And this quickly?” It’s by far a safer question than asking if the agent has a drug habit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he’s never </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard to get a hold of when I need to. Pretty open schedule for a drug dealer, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence hangs between them as Rhys processes Ianto’s words, his brow furrowing. Was he serious? Did Ianto </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a drug habit the rest of the team didn’t know about? Wouldn’t someone - Gwen, Jack, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> - have realized at this point, or--? It’s only when he sees the whisper of a smirk pulling at Ianto’s lips that it dawns on him that his leg is being pulled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, mate, y’had me worried there for a second. Probably best that Cardiff’s first line of defense against aliens isn’t high.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Probably,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ianto answers, his lips quirking now that he needn’t hide it. “But no, actually - I spend a lot of time on internet forums, searching for rumors of alien activity or artifacts. Along the way, I’ve just picked up some useful knowledge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t know there was a place on the internet you could go to </span>
  <em>
    <span>find</span>
  </em>
  <span> this stuff. With Daf’s dealer, it’s all word of mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daf does stimulants?” Ianto seems only mildly surprised -- and Rhys figures </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> he knows Daf -- Gwen’s probably passed on some wild stories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not really. Shrooms, mostly. LSD when he’s feeling a bit wild, but that’s only on boys’ nights out, and--” He hesitates, realizes exactly what he’s saying, and then realizes that in his brief silence, he’s also given himself away more than he would have liked. “--of course, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daf, y’know, I’m not there to police him--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Ianto’s response is calm, but his expression says he knows exactly what Rhys was trying to avoid. Well...shit. It wasn’t like Ianto couldn’t tell Gwen something she didn’t already know, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the same…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, so, er -- what are we doin’, exactly? I’ve never seen this side of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll assume we meet him where he told us, give him the money, get the drugs, and leave.” The agent seemed confident, but Rhys had a sinking feeling in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ianto -- have you ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> bought drugs illegally before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Rhys, I don’t usually spend my time seeking out crack dealers--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, but never?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, neither have I!” Worry seeps into his tone, and he knows for a fact he’s definitely overthinking the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’s a first time for everything. It’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ianto seems mildly annoyed at his fretting, as he shakes his head. “Just relax and let me do the talking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like you’re more qualified for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>Torchwood?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” It’s said with a bit of a bite to it, before they turn a corner down a relatively quiet area, effectively ending the conversation with his next words. “That’s him up ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhys falls silent as they approach the man -- who, up close, seems quite a bit less threatening than expected. He looks like the average human - dressed casually, the hood of his jacket up over his head, to hide his identity, Rhys suspects. He looks to be roughly the same age as Rhys himself, with a scruffy beard and sharp green eyes. There’s an odd sense of familiarity to him, but Rhys can’t quite place him. He doesn’t think he wants to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce, is it?” Ianto asks quietly as they approach, and the man who is possibly Bruce raises an eyebrow, shoving himself up to standing off the wall against which he’d been leaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Depends,” he answered slowly, glancing over the two of them. Rhys feels compelled to say something, but Ianto simply reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and produces a wad of bills, raising an eyebrow. The man who is definitely Bruce nods, swinging his crossbody bag around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, how much was it you wanted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eight grams,” Ianto says with a confidence that makes Rhys’ eyes widen in shock. He knows they’ll need a fair supply to keep Gwen away from unpleasant symptoms for a few days, and Ianto would know best, but it seems excessive. Bruce lets out a short laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, okay. Partying hard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yep. Definitely,” Rhys interjects, drawing a sidelong glance from Ianto and a raised eyebrow from Bruce as he reaches into his bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First time buyers, huh? Don’t worry, we’ll make this easy.” He seems to chatter as he sorts for the right sort of package in his bag; Rhys has to question what amount of drugs he carries around. Shame Torchwood doesn’t deal with this; they could just seize it, he imagines. “Anyway, how do you lads know each other?” Bruce seems to be a chatty type; maybe it’s their (likely just Rhys’) evident nervous energy that puts him at ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friends,” Rhys interrupts quickly, drawing another, harder look from Ianto. “Yep, we’re -- were just friends, that’s us.” He wasn’t keen on explaining that Ianto was his wife’s best mate, or coworker, however one looked at it. He raises his brows at Ianto, before turning back to Bruce, who is looking between them curiously, pausing in his retrieval of the drugs they so want.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just erm - friends?” He asks, and Rhys nods vigorously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Only friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Don’t mind if you’re gay, boys, it’s 2008,  you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shock flashes through Rhys’ expression, but who is he to tell the man handing them illicit drugs that he’s wrong? He reaches out and grabs Ianto’s hand on impulse, straightening up. “Right, yeah, just - never know, y’know?” He can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the way Ianto wants to murder him through the stiffness of his hand, before Ianto slowly relaxes, offering a slight smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry. Been together nearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> years, ‘aven’t we?” He releases Rhys’ hand, only to wrap an arm about his shoulders, pulling him in close against his side. His grin broadens to proportions Rhys has </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen on Ianto, and the tone to his voice -- charitably, he can only describe it as </span>
  <em>
    <span>camp.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “He’s always a bit </span>
  <em>
    <span>quiet </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it, but eventually he’ll open up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, erm--” Rhys laughs nervously, and Ianto beams down at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>shy.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s fine with it, isn’t he? You know, we’re throwin’ a nice party for our </span>
  <em>
    <span>anniversary,</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t do that without some </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is revenge, Rhys knows it. He can only offer an awkward smile to Bruce, who seems more than satisfied with their answer and is gathering the amount of product needed. “Nope, makes sense. Right, that’s eight grams -- and since it’s a special occasion, I’ll cut you a discount, yeah? Six hundred.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Six--</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Rhys is silenced by a sharp squeeze of Ianto’s arm before he releases him to count out the money asked, ignoring the shock in the other’s tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five, six - six hundred pounds sterling. There you are.” The cash is handed off, and Ianto pockets the drugs, turning and again grabbing Rhys’ hand to pull him along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be strangers,” Bruce calls after them, and Ianto tosses that same wide grin over his shoulders as he drags Rhys along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>worry</span>
  </em>
  <span> about that!” He continues on his path, and it’s not till they’re nearly a block away that he allows Rhys to rip his hand away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> was that?” Rhys splutters, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you said we were datin’, couldn’t let you get caught in your lie--” Ianto’s tone has returned to normal, if undoubtedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>smug,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Rhys scoffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you bloody idiot! Six </span>
  <em>
    <span>hundred</span>
  </em>
  <span> pounds for what we got?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he was taking advantage.” Ianto’s response is mild as he sets off at a quick pace. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But,</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t want him gettin’ suspicious, and we need this. So, six hundred. It’s Torchwood money, I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhys let out a huff, shaking his head. “Look, just to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>clear,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s not that I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span> to you, I just didn’t want to tell him he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong--</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses as Ianto stopped dead in his tracks, turning back around to face him. Ianto simply watches him for a moment with an expression best labeled </span>
  <em>
    <span>wounded,</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he shakes his head. “...</span>
  <em>
    <span>shame.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> looking forward to telling Jack about our new arrangement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...shut the fuck up, you big idiot,” Rhys responds, shaking his head as that smirk returns to Ianto’s lips, heading for the SUV at a faster pace now. “Thank you for helpin’ me get the drugs, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> thank you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anythin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> involving either you </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jack, now or in the future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft laugh escapes Ianto, a nice enough sound given the stressful circumstances, as the agent approaches the SUV and unlocks it, grabbing the door handle. “Things change,” he comments mildly, still amused, before his voice returns to whatever bastardization of it he’d held before. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Never </span>
  </em>
  <span>say never!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to yavemiel for the research done into the actual logistics of the drugs, cxptained for Owen's characterization, blipintiime for Ianto's characterization and the inclusion of Ifan, and the Bloody Torchwood server for the absolute madcap shenanigans this chapter brought on. Hope you laughed!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Misery Loves Company</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>John gets stuck in the Hub with Tosh. New information about the Swap is discovered.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologize in advance for the length -- this was written in the throes of NaNoWriMo and only barely edited.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The trek back up to the main level of Torchwood is awkward at best, as John forces himself to even his breathing. After the outburst Jack had been privy to, he feels an unfamiliar sensation -- a hot rush of <em> embarrassment </em> that flushed his freckled cheeks and rose warm in his chest. The breakdown of a carefully crafted facade left him feeling defenseless and vulnerable, especially to someone who knew him so well, once upon a time, and now clearly thinks so little of him. There’d been a point when he <em> only </em> let his guard down around Jack. Now, he’d rather do it with near anyone else before his past lover.</p><p>With each step closer to the surface, John pulls his defenses up, rebuilding the walls that had crumbled in the dark of the tunnels beneath. Another step, another breath, steady now. By the time they reach the main area of the Hub, he’s regained the swagger he is so known for, thumbs hooked on his belt as they enter the main area. Jack pauses, staring around at the area, searching for his team before he shouts, “hello?”, his voice echoing around the area as his blue eyes scan for his team. “Anybody?”</p><p>“Medbay,” Owen’s voice drifts upwards from the sunken area, but movement from the couch draws John’s attention rather than the undead medic. A soft groan sounds through the area, and Gwen sits up from her awkwardly curled position on the sofa, trying to fit his entire height onto the tiny length of the furniture. She blinks blearily at them, squinting and shielding her eyes against the light.</p><p>“<em> You </em> look like hell,” John comments mildly, and her squint transforms into something more of a scowl.</p><p>“I’m going through withdrawal from <em> your </em> disgusting habit. Leave me alone.”</p><p>“Well, it’s hardly <em> difficult </em>to find something to keep you level, if you’ll let me take a step out for a bit--”</p><p>“<em> No one </em> is dosing Gwen,” Owen’s voice is louder now as he climbs the stairs from the medbay, leveling John with a hard look. “I’ll do my best to ease it.”</p><p>“I can tell you with <em> full </em> confidence, without giving her a real heavy-hitter, she’s going to be miserable,” John returns, annoyance clear in his tone. “And I want that body back in good shape.”</p><p>“Your <em> body </em> is a cesspit of poison,” Gwen answers tightly, running a hand through the short hair, her expression pained and pinched. “It’ll come back in whatever shape it comes back in.”</p><p>“Have you forgotten that <em> I </em> also inhabit <em> yours? </em> ” John snaps, irritation rising in his chest. He is <em> fond </em> of his body, and the concept of <em> anyone </em> threatening its wellbeing, even someone living inside it, brings his already heightened anger to a seething bubble. “It’s in your <em> best interests </em> to--”</p><p>“Whoa, okay, stop.” Jack’s hand on his shoulder is strong and demanding, dragging him to a halt as he glares Gwen down. <em> Deities far and wide, </em> what he wouldn’t <em> give </em> to be back in that body. Tall, and strong, and capable, and <em> dashingly </em> handsome. Not <em> this </em> tiny pathetic thing that sets him off-kilter and causes such intense physical fear reactions he thinks he might be sick.</p><p>Gwen doesn’t respond, simply stares back at him until she can’t any longer, a groan escaping her before she buries her head under her jacket once more.</p><p>“Where’s Ianto?” Jack finally asks, a sigh escaping him in a huff, and John lifts an eyebrow.</p><p>“Yes, where <em> is </em> Eye Candy? Haven’t seen him since we got here. Is he hiding? Shy?”</p><p>“Rhys was asking for him,” Owen fills in the gaps, shaking his head. “May be still in the office. Gwen?” He turns to the miserable lump on the couch that is the woman who’s taken over John’s body, moving over closer to her. “Come on, we’ll give you something to take the edge off.”</p><p>“Anythin’ you can do,” she mumbles, reaching up to take his hand as he hauls her off the sofa, immediately tucking the jacket close about her head to block out the light and leaning on him as they make their way down the stairs once more.</p><p>“She’ll get used to it,” John mutters, watching them go, before he turns to Jack. “Speaking of, this sobriety thing is <em> not </em> a good look on me. You’ve got to have something--?”</p><p>“No,” Jack answers shortly, and a protest bubbles up in him. Of course they’re shooting <em>Gwen</em> up with something to make her feel good, and he’s denied even a proper <em>drink.</em> It’s this goddamned <em>body.</em> More precious than the soul that currently resides in it, he sees that still.</p><p>“Playing favorites again, Jack,” he scolds, his expression disappointed. “At least give me some of whatever your medic’s shooting her up with--”</p><p>What he expects to be an inevitable argument is cut off by the sound of the cog door activating, and both of their attentions are pulled as the pretty, smart one enters, towing along behind her a noticeably distraught and shaken woman that John well remembers. “Ah, hello there.” He flashes a grin as he looks Tosh over, waggling his fingers. She pauses, returns his once over with a look of disdain, and immediately turns her attention to Jack.</p><p>“Jack, this is Starling. Starling -- Jack.” She turns to the woman, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder as she pulls her closer to their captain. Her signature leather coat is draped about the woman, and the blonde clutches it close around her body. “He’s going to help.”</p><p>“H-hi.” The slight blonde has streaks of mascara running down her face, applied the night previous and ruined by both their escapades the night before and what seemed to be genuine tears from that day.  John feels a frown take over his expression; he’s missing information.</p><p>“Hi, Starling.” Jack’s voice is gentle, and annoyance again spikes sharply within John’s chest.</p><p>“<em> Hi, Starling, </em>” he echoes in a tone nothing short of mocking, as though cooing at a puppy, earning him yet another sharp glance from the captain at his side. He should really start keeping a tally of how many of those he’s earned. The blonde glances to him uncertainly, but Jack has already stepped forward to take her from Toshiko, settling his hand comfortingly on her shoulder.</p><p>“Don’t worry, we’re going to find out what happened,” he murmurs, walking her along to the medbay. “We’re going to have our doctor look you over just to make sure you’re okay, and you can tell us what you heard.”</p><p>Tosh and John are left standing there, looking uncertainly at each other. Tosh straightens, crossing her arms as she glances him over. “I think I prefer you in your own body,” she murmurs, her words clipped, and John forces a relaxed laugh, shrugging as he cants his weight into one leg.</p><p>“Trust me, darling, I prefer me in my own body, too. This one’s missing a bit of equipment I’ve come to enjoy.”</p><p>“I’ll bet it is <em> a bit, </em>” she returns snippily, before simply turning to follow Jack and Starling to the medbay, and John laughs as he follows her.</p><p>“I have it many times on good authority that it is <em> not. </em> You can ask Jack about that.” He fires off a cheeky wink, and Jack glances back at the mention of his name, expression suspicious before he focuses on guiding the shaky blonde down the stairs. It’s only a moment after that Starling gasps, and the cadence of her footsteps increases.</p><p>“John! You’re safe, I thought that if they’d taken Mark, they’d taken you--!”</p><p>He reaches the railing and rests his hands against it on either side of his body, palms curling around the cool metal as he gazes downwards onto the scene below. Gwen sits on the examination table, sleeve rolled up to allow space for an IV connected to her arm, her expression <em> utterly </em> bewildered as Starling reaches up over the table to cling to her, arms wrapped about her neck. A scoff escapes John as he glances to the short brunette at his side who has joined him at the railing, an eyebrow lifting. “So no one’s informed her about this little switcheroo, then?”</p><p>“I thought we’d wait until I got her someplace safe,” Tosh admits, her arms crossed, and John lets out a slight chuckle.</p><p>“Well, seems Gwen’s got a bit to deal with.” He can’t help his own amusement as Starling pulls back just enough to plant a kiss to Gwen’s cheek, only narrowly missing her lips as Gwen turns her head and visibly stiffens in hesitation.</p><p>“Starling,” he calls down, and as she looks up, he waggles his fingers again. “That’s not me, seems I’ve swapped bodies for the time being. If you’d like to try that again with the right person--”</p><p>“You -- you what?”</p><p>“Sorry, darling, but he’s swapped bodies with me. I woke up with you this morning, but it wasn’t where I was meant to be,” Gwen offers wearily, eyes closed and her free hand pressed over her eyes to block out the light.</p><p>“Is that...is that why you were so strange this morning?” She asks hesitantly, fully releasing Gwen in order to look between her and John. She seems to be managing the information well, though John has to assume it’s the shock.</p><p>“Of course it was,” he interjects. “If it were me, I’d have still been there when whatever happened with Mark...happened,” he finishes, shrugging.</p><p>“Yes, sorry, I just had to leave,” Gwen answers quietly, her inflection tired.</p><p>“Starling, if you could just wait for a few moments,” Owen steps in, offering her a smile. “Let me finish up with Gwen here, and then we’ll get you looked over.”</p><p>John loses interest in the conversation and wanders away, seating himself on the sofa that Gwen has since abandoned, carefully bracing his elbows against his knees and lowering his head into his hands. <em> He needs a fucking drink. </em> This is all too much, the chaos and the conversation something he could handle so easily were he not sober in a torturous manner. </p><p>He doesn’t know how much time passes; his mind drifts, wanders. He doesn’t even know what it is he’s thinking about, until he hears a commotion coming up the stairs.</p><p>“So is that what they were tracking?” His voice - <em> Gwen. </em> He lifts his head with a sigh, glancing up at the team as they approach him.</p><p>“It might be,” Jack answers, and Tosh shakes her head.</p><p>“If they were tracking the manipulator but didn’t find it, and they took Mark, do they think he’ll come after them?”</p><p>“John?” Owen’s tone is derisive, and John stands to stall their movement.</p><p>“Hang on, hang on - did you find my wrist strap?” He can’t believe he hasn’t thought of it until now, with the chaos of the morning, but he hasn’t seen Gwen wearing it.</p><p>“Starling did,” Jack answers, a slight huff of air escaping him as he rests his hands on his hips. “She found it in the room and kept it with her.”</p><p>“So what about it, the people who took Mark were tracking it?”</p><p>“Jack--” Gwen interrupts, holding out a hand that rests briefly on his arm, before they both seem to pull back from the not-quite-familiar contact. “If they’re tracking a manipulator, then it’s targeted. And they took Mark. Which means if they expect someone to come after him…”</p><p>“I know.” Jack’s response is quiet, and he closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s likely they were trying to come after <em> me. </em>”</p><p>“--so this isn’t my bloody fault at <em> all, </em>” John interjects, and the team ignores him.</p><p>“Where does <em> Gwen </em> figure in?” Owen questions, and Tosh shrugs.</p><p>“Doesn’t make sense yet, but it’s a lead.”</p><p>“So...have you lost the blonde one?” Finally, the team pauses to acknowledge him, and Owen shakes his head.</p><p>“She’s sedated.”</p><p>“So <em> where </em> is Ianto?” Jack carries on their conversation immediately, frowning.</p><p>“And where’s Rhys?” Gwen’s wobbly again, and Jack wraps an around around her waist.</p><p>“First off, we need to let you lie down, Gwen,” Owen sighs. “I’ve just pumped you full of opioids, and it’s about to knock you on your arse.”</p><p>“You’ve pumped her full of what?”</p><p>Rhys’ voice filters into the room, and the group turns to see his and Ianto’s approach. John can’t help the way his expression lightens; if he’s going to be ignored and blamed by Torchwood, it <em> might as well </em> be the Welsh one with the pretty face.</p><p>“Just sedatives and painkillers,” Owen repeats, and as Rhys approaches, Gwen is easily handed off from one man to the other. “Enough to take the edge off.”</p><p>“I’d like to take her home,” Rhys responds, and a moment of quiet dissent runs through the group.</p><p>“I want to keep an eye on her--”</p><p>“Owen -- actually, let them go.” Jack interrupts, frowning at Rhys. “She’s fine except for the withdrawal?”</p><p>“Nothing unusual in her scans,” the medic’s tone runs reluctant.</p><p>“I’ll bring her back if anythin’ happens, I promise, but if she’s goin’ to be miserable, at least let it be at home in the comfort of her own bed,” Rhys insists. Jack and Owen spend another moment eyeing each other, and then Rhys and the increasingly-exhausted Gwen, before Jack nods.</p><p>“Okay. Go ahead, take her. But you <em> call me </em> the <em> second </em> anything happens, all right?”</p><p>“I know how to take care of my <em> wife, </em> Jack,” Rhys responds stodgily, but he nods. “And of course I will. I’m not lettin’ a single other thing happen to her on my watch.”</p><p>“I did say I make a good wife,” John commented idly, and Rhys glances at him, gaze narrowing.</p><p>“And <em> you </em> - be careful with that body. I want it back in pristine condition, y’hear me? And keep your ‘ands to yourself.”</p><p>“It’s all I am to you lot, isn’t it? Just a pretty face.” John sighs dramatically, before dropping back onto the sofa. “You two go, have fun. You’ve got <em> my </em> full permission to have fun with that body,” he finishes with a wink in Rhys’ direction, and Gwen lifts her head tiredly.</p><p>“That permission is <em> absolutely not </em> returned. Hands off. Don’t do a thing.”</p><p>“You’re all <em> boring, </em>” John sighs, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, I’ll have to take what I got this morning with Mister Cooper and live with it.” Another wink is sent his way, as Rhys flushes a deep scarlet, immediately returning his focus to Gwen.</p><p>“Let’s go.”</p><p>“I’ll get you something in pill form to give her,” Owen offers, before disappearing down the steps again. John shrugs and falls silent until Owen reappears and hands off the pills. As they discuss instructions, his gaze drifts to Ianto and Jack, as they speak on the side in hushed tones. He can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but their gazes lift to him; he waves cheekily and blows a kiss in Ianto’s direction, rewarded immediately with a sharp roll of his eyes before he turns his back to John to continue speaking to Jack. John can’t be upset; it gives him a <em> stunning </em> view of the Welshman’s rear in those tight suit pants, and his head cants to the side as he simply enjoys it.</p><p>It’s a long moment later that the Coopers depart, and that pulls John’s attention once more; he’s abruptly reluctant to let her out of his sight in that body, but at least it wasn’t <em> him </em> they were tracking, so he can only hope the frame he’s called his home for so long remains safe in her care. He <em> does </em> wonder what they’ll get up to -- he doesn’t peg Rhys for being up for much, but given that he’s with <em> Gwen </em>...well. Perhaps he’s not the only one to attempt to peg him as such.</p><p>“So what’s the plan, then?” He’s interrupting more important Torchwood conversations, he supposes, but since they seem so keen on ignoring his presence, he’d simply tuned them out for a brief moment.  Jack glances at him sidelong, and he and Ianto break out of their private conversation, changing positions to open up their stances to the group as a whole.</p><p>“Owen, you go to the club John was at last night. I’m going to track down some leads on things I was working on, see if I can find the wrist strap connection. Ianto - with me.”</p><p>“Which leaves me on babysitting duty,” Toshiko finished, a definitive snip to her tone that is met with a brief <em> look </em> from Jack.</p><p>“I was going to say analyze the manipulator and yeah, keep an eye on things. Starling should be out for a while, John --” He turned to him, and John put on his best attempt at an expression of innocence, though he wasn’t certain how well it worked on this face. “You just..stay here. Out of trouble. Tosh, if he causes trouble, put him in the cells.”</p><p>“I’m doing nothing here, and yet you <em> still </em> suspect me,” John sighs, shaking his head. “But go ahead, do your jobs. It’s not like I’m here in a body that isn’t mine, <em> traumatized </em> or anything. I could use some <em> sympathy, </em> Jack.”</p><p>“You already got it.” he returns, drawing the briefest flicker of a glance from Ianto, but he ignores it. He taps his own manipulator, checking something on the readout before he nods to the group, shoulders squaring. Going into leader mode, John’s seen it enough times, and he can almost predict the words that precede his dramatic exit, coat trailing behind him. “Okay, team, move out.”</p><p> </p><p>———————❖———————</p><p> </p><p>The Hub seems too quiet once the team is gone. John finds immediately that Tosh has no issues maintaining control -- the second he begins to wander, she gives a dry “no”, and he glances back to find the business end of a weapon pointed in his direction. He acquiesces the first few times, though she never once looks up from her computer screens; he begins to believe she isn’t actually aiming. <em> This </em> theory is put to an abrupt and tragic end when he keeps moving despite her warning, and the gun follows; he gives in just before the warning shot is fired off.</p><p>At least, he hopes it would have been a warning shot. It might not have been, considering it looked similar to a stun gun he’d seen in use a few times. He was safe from death, at a minimum, in this body. Good thing he had <em> something </em> going for him.</p><p>Due to the fact his only companion is the seemingly-omnisicent tech savant, John finds there’s little to keep his interest. In fact, there’s nothing at all. Toshiko has a very clear boundary in mind; anything outside of that is off-limits, and the second he reaches out to touch anything, she’s there again, warning him off of it. Despite many complaints, he finally gives in and seats himself reluctantly on the sofa again. He’s exhausted -- more so than he has been in a long while. He can only assume it’s the bodyswap again, but he feels as though he hasn’t slept in <em> weeks. </em> And while he could likely go for longer without sleep than they believe here, it’s a feeling that takes its toll. Before he can fully process the manner in which he finds himself drifting off, he finds himself waking with a start.</p><p>The Hub doesn’t look any different; the lack of windows or daylight makes telling the time difficult, and John rubs his eyes uncertainly, frowning at the feeling. <em> Right, </em> Gwen bloody Cooper’s body. He wants to check the time on his wrist strap, but naturally, they refused to give him access to it.</p><p>There’s a loud trilling that echoes off the stone walls of the Hub, and John recognizes it now as what woke him. A deep sigh escapes him as he watches Toshiko reach for it, tapping a button and immediately going back to typing on her many keyboards. “Jack?”</p><p>“Toshiko.” Jack’s voice sounds, faint but understandable, from her speaker phone. “Looks like we may have found something - residual energy traces. We’re following them, but we may be a bit. How are things there?”</p><p>“He’s been asleep for a few hours, and Starling woke briefly. Owen stopped by to check in on her.”</p><p>“Think you mind staying late tonight? I’ll be back at the Hub later to look after John, but I want to stay on this if it’s something.”</p><p>“I figured I would anyway,” she answers honestly, and John frowns. Another few hours with her would be interesting normally, if she weren’t so intent on shooting him the moment he set a toe out of line.</p><p>“Remind me to buy you a drink next time we’re out. I’ll send you the readings, let me know if you can make anything from them.”</p><p>“I always do. Keep me updated.”</p><p>The phone line goes dead, and John lets out a long sigh as he stretches dramatically to announce his return to the waking world. For the first time since she’d been assigned him, Tosh turns to look at him fully, raising an eyebrow. “You sleep deeply.”</p><p>“Not usually, too many things to keep track of,” he answers with a yawn as he stands, rolling his neck and deftly re-tying Gwen’s long hair into a ponytail at the back of his head. “Guess the swap had me wiped out. Anything interesting happen?”</p><p>“Nothing yet. There’s pizza on the table if you like.”</p><p>“Oh, and here I thought it’d be strictly a bread and water diet.”</p><p>“It’s for good behavior. Lying still and saying nothing for a few hours.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s a <em> reward </em> system, then?” He reaches out to lift the lid of a box still-warm, and the scent of greasy baked goodness filled the air, causing a rumble in his stomach that he hadn’t expected. He picks up a slice and shoves it in his mouth, speaking around it as he chewed. “I can be good for <em> you </em> if you--”</p><p>“<em> That </em> will lose you pizza privileges,” she sighs, her attention once more on the screens around her as her dark eyes dart between the glowing readouts, her hands always moving. Fascinating, how she kept her focus on all of that information like that. She really <em> was </em> brilliant, John hadn’t doubted that from the first moment he’d stepped into the Hub and had seen what she could do. It was simply <em> tiresome </em> to deal with when their goals weren’t exactly aligned.</p><p>“All right, all right. I’ll do my best, but no promises.”</p><p>“I suppose, if that’s the best you can do.” Her lips thin briefly into a hard line, but her focus remains on the screens.</p><p>John blinks a bit blearily, shaking the residue of sleep off of him, as he takes in the area. “Little Starling still out, then?”</p><p>“She’s not exactly calm, and we can’t do much for her but monitor her right now,” Tosh returns, seemingly more forthcoming with information now that she’s had more time for herself. “Owen noted raised chemical and hormonal levels -- could just be whatever you lot took last night, could be something else. Figured it was best to keep her here until we know what that means for her. She’s sedated.”</p><p>“For the best, I suppose,” he mumbles to himself as he gazes about, his eyes landing solidly on a brown bottle sitting on the edge of the table. He reaches out for it, finding it <em> disappointingly </em> empty. He stands with a groan (he’s in a younger body, but after sleeping on that sofa for so long, it feels <em> old </em> ) and makes his way over to Toshiko with the bottle in hand. As he nears her, he watches her hand rest on the underside of the desk - <em> ah </em>, that’s where she’d gotten that consistently appearing weapon from - in anticipation, their eyes meeting in the reflection of one of her monitors.</p><p>“Miss Sato, have pity on me. You’ve got some sort of alcohol somewhere around here.” He lifts the evidence he’s brought, shaking its empty body. She says nothing, simply continues to input a string of numbers into a sequence, and then turns with a sigh as she taps a button, and all the screens flicker into blackness, leaving Gwen’s face staring back at him in the dark.</p><p>“I’m not particularly fond of this babysitting arrangement, and I’d rather deal with you sober than not.”</p><p>“It’s hardly going to get me <em> wasted </em> to have a few beers,” he protests, his expression mildly incredulous. “Your doctor has given Gwen something to keep her level. I haven’t been sober in <em> ages, </em> Tosh, <em> please. </em> ” There’s a distinct note of pleading to his tone that he doesn’t appreciate for himself, but now that it’s there, he might as well put it to work for him. “Everything seems too bright, too loud. All I’m asking is enough to erm -- what was it that the medic said?” He mulls it over for a moment, as though genuinely searching for the words, before he snaps his fingers in a triumphant manner, nodding. “ <em> Take the edge off. </em>”</p><p>“Take the edge off sobriety?” She asks dryly, before shaking her head. “Look, I’ve still got work to do, so if it’ll make you leave me alone, you can have a couple beers.”</p><p>“Truly a giver, aren’t you?” he returns as she stands, glancing up at him. <em> My, she </em> <b> <em>is</em> </b> <em> tiny. Standing in heels and still looking up at me in </em> <b> <em>Gwen’s</em> </b> <em> body? </em> He’s learned over his time not to judge <em> anything </em> by size, however, and he lifts his hands in surrender and steps back as she moves past him. As it turns out, there’s a small kitchen area just outside of the reach of his invisible tether, and Toshiko opens a refrigerator, withdrawing a case of beer -- and after a pause, a bottle of red wine.</p><p>“Beer’s fine,” he offers, as she sets them both down on the table.</p><p>“It may be, but I’ll bet things taste different with different bodies.” It’s nicer than expected, and as John seats himself on the sofa once more, he follows her with his eyes on her way back to her work station.</p><p>Only a few moments pass between then and John downing his third bottle -- the beer <em> is </em> fine, as he’d expected. He figured Miss Cooper wouldn’t mind a beer. It takes only a short amount of time to down what he has -- cap off, head back, tip the contents directly down his throat -- and already the feeling of it in his stomach brings a calming influence, though the alcohol has yet to sit in. He takes the fourth more slowly, sipping it as he rests his feet up on the table, attempting to make out what was on those glowing screens from a distance, and finding it more difficult than expected. His eyesight was better than Gwen’s -- a good thing to know, but frustrating in the moment.</p><p>“What are you working on?” He asks casually, and Tosh glances briefly over her shoulder before returning her gaze to her work.</p><p>“Searching the Rift readings, seeing if there’s something I’m missing around the time you swapped. All we know is that it was between two and seven am.”</p><p>“Must take a lot of processing power to get through all of that.”</p><p>“We are Torchwood -- we get the tech we need.”</p><p>“I meant <em> you, </em>” he continues smoothly, canting his head. Her hands still on the keys, but only for a moment before she continues on. “It’s like I said when I was first here, you’re the brains and the beauty.”</p><p>“Could’ve stopped at brains.” It’s a warning tone, and John shrugs.</p><p>“Right, right, told you no promises. That err - the readings Jack said he’d found…?”</p><p>“Heard that, did you?” She asks, and it’s clear from her tone that she’s distracted. “I’m running those through a program. Nothing we’ve seen matches it yet.”</p><p>“You know, I’ve seen a fair bit --” he clambers to his feet, crossing over to her, and she gives him a stern glance, clearly hesitant about letting him see the contents of her computer. “I only want to help, Miss Sato,” he continues quietly. “And if it’s something new here, I’ve got a good bit of experience, and a lot that Jack doesn’t have.” She stares him down with narrowed eyes, but after a moment, however, she closes down a fair amount of the programs - both to hide information, he assumes, as well as to let him get a clear view.</p><p>For a moment, he’s silent, scanning the information as best he can. There’s the beginning of a buzz in the back of his brain, and the lights from the monitors don’t seem to be so glaring any longer. The information filtering past his eyes is understandable, but eventually, he sighs.</p><p>“I understand it - it’s all <em> familiar, </em> you know, the readings, the makeup. But the issue is that it isn’t <em> unique. </em> It could be <em> any </em> number of species, life forms, or societies. It’s all so muddled up in your Rift that we could be dealing with anything. And as hard as I try, I don’t remember ever coming across anything that could swap bodies. Take over them, yes. Steal your brain and pretend to still be you. Shapeshifters, by the <em> loads. </em> Let me tell you, the Karasceris shapeshifters are a <em> riot </em> at a party, just make certain to keep an eye on your nose. But this...this I’ve never seen. And I wish I had, I really do. But um -- your readings. See, this here--” He gestures to a chart on the screen. “Those readings could be anywhere from 0.8 to 3,000, and still be in normal range. This -- this is just noise. Traffic, communication patterns across the universe. I imagine what you pick up through your Rift is about as helpful as a dodgy handheld radio during a tsunami. Smatterings, bits and pieces, nothing understandable. And this -- well, those are energy readings. Life forms, through the rift, but again, nothing distinct. It’s like a hundred planets piled on top of each other. Given a few years, maybe you could sort though a second of data, but that’s the issue. It’s overwhelming. Incomplete. Whatever caused this, if it came through the Rift…” He shakes his head, his stomach sinking uncomfortably. “...we won’t find it through these. If Jack can track the readings to the source, that’ll be helpful. If not, we’re um -- well, I refuse to be in this body forever, so we’ll have to find another way.”</p><p>He realizes he’s been rambling for a fair few minutes now, and he pauses to look up at her, finding her gaze fixed on the screen. After another few seconds of drastic silence, he clears his throat to prompt her, and she seems to come back to herself.</p><p>“Well, that’s all good information. Obviously Jack and I have gone over a lot of this, but er - that’s helpful. Honestly, it is, gives me parameters for a few things that I’m working with…” She starts to pull other windows up, and then pauses to glance at him. “Why don’t you--?”</p><p>“Right, right. Torchwood, top secret and all that,” he answers with a solemn nod, before taking a swig of the beer and turning himself around. “Well, let me know if I can help any more. I do hold quite a lot of knowledge in this brain of mine -- well, in what <em> was </em> my brain. Wonder how that works, with a body swap? Personalities ingrained in the physical world, synapses and pathways and neural transmissions...strange.” He’s just rambling now -- the slow buzz is helping to release the tension he has held since the moment he awoke, and he lets out a sigh, dropping his shoulders as he finishes the fourth beer in a few large gulps.</p><p>And once more, silence descends on the Hub. He’s beginning to loathe the quiet - the way he can hear the dripping of the water around, amplified and echoed back a thousand times over if one were to listen for it, the vast <em> emptiness </em> of the area, the constant hum and beep of machines that could break a mind if thought too hard about. He imagines to some it’s comforting. He simply wants to cover it up.</p><p>He stays on the cushion for a while, knee bouncing and hands wrapped around the now-empty beer before he finally, <em> finally </em> gives up and shoots to his feet, reaching out to grab the wine bottle and uncork it, scooping up the glass Tosh had provided him with it and pouring it before he makes his way back over to her workstation, hovering a few feet behind as he waits for her to notice him, as she always, inevitably, does. The seconds drag by, and he’s beginning to believe that she truly might not have realized he was there, before her voice sounds between them, distracted still.</p><p>“What do you want, John?”</p><p>“I was <em> thinking, </em> you’ve been working all day, and we’re clearly going to be here a bit…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Have you found anything more?”</p><p>“No.” She sighs, dropping her glasses onto the desk in a form of frustration, as she turns to face him, her lips pressed together. “Just going over the numbers again to see if I’ve missed anything.”</p><p>“Right, so - since you’re not doing anything--”</p><p>“I’m going over the numbers--”</p><p>“I thought you might want a drink.” He holds up the glass of wine, lifting an eyebrow, and for a moment, she simply looks between his expression and the glass in his hand before a slight, disbelieving smile curls her lips.</p><p>“You’re <em> not </em> going to get me drunk.”</p><p>“I did say <em> a </em> drink, didn’t I? Singular? Come <em> on, </em> Toshiko, it’s after hours. You’ve been babysitting all day, that’s what you called it. Let yourself have a break.”</p><p>“With you?” She lifts an eyebrow to match his, her expression clearly unconvinced, and he sighs.</p><p>“Look, I’ve been doing <em> nothing </em> all day, or else I’ve been yelled at by various members of your team. I’m craving <em> actual </em> conversation, is that such a terrible thing to ask for?”</p><p>A slow sigh escapes her, and she shakes her head slowly before she glances back to the screens, before nodding, tapping a few buttons and sending her computer into sleep mode before she rises from her seat. “I will sit and talk with you, but I’m not interested in drinking, okay?”</p><p>“Right, got it. No drinking for you.” He’s simply grateful that she’s agreed to sit with him; he’s a social being by nature, but being alone has always been something he could handle. Being around people and feeling alone? Not a fun thing to endure, especially in a time of such intense uncertainty.</p><p>They make their way back to the seating area, Tosh finding herself in a chair and John again on the couch, reaching for what is now his fifth beer as he sets the wine glass on the table within her reach, should she change her mind.</p><p>“So,” he says slowly, as he pops off the top. There <em> could </em> be an awkward pause in conversation, or he could fill that space and set off what he knows she really must want to speak about in the beginning, get that nastiness out of the way. “You must have questions. Someone else in the body of your friend and coworker.”</p><p>“How does it <em> feel? </em>” As it would seem, turning the tap of conversation was not as difficult as expected with her, as she immediately leaned her elbows onto her knees, and her chin on her loosely-balled fists. “Does it feel like your body is separate from your mind?”</p><p>“It’s certainly not <em> familiar, </em>” he answers readily, shrugging one shoulder. “This morning, everything was uncertain. She’s shorter than me, her limbs aren’t as long--”</p><p>“She’s really not too terribly much shorter than you,” Tosh commented, shrugging. “Those boots have a low heel, it brings you two nearly even when you stand by each other.”</p><p>“That’s ridiculous, she’s tiny,” he protests, shaking his head and another swig of his beer.</p><p>“Just look at it when you’re next to each other,” she answers with a shrug.</p><p>“Well, you’re practically a child,” he retorts. “I mean -- not -- I mean, <em> look at you, </em> you’re not a <em> child, </em> but you’re <em> short. </em>”</p><p>“I do just fine.”</p><p>“<em> Anyway. </em> ” He moves back into safer territory -- this strange switch situation. While at any other point he wouldn’t mind irritating or teasing her, she <em> was </em> the only person here to give him attention. “It doesn’t feel like my body isn’t my own <em> physically. </em> Mentally -- nothing seems right. I feel as though I’m walking upside down on the ceiling. Everything moves differently, I keep either missing what I’m reaching for or overcompensating and slamming my hand or leg against things.” He shrugs, lifting an arm and rolling up the sleeve to reveal a purpling bruise along the underside. “I’d say it just goes with the territory, but I don’t think anyone knows where the territory <em> is. </em>”</p><p>She nods, looking over him curiously, and John lets out a short, scoffing laugh before he takes another swig of the beer.</p><p>“<em> What? </em>” She asks, and he shakes his head.</p><p>“You’re looking at me like I’m some alien creature you lot brought in. Even without this body, you should be familiar enough.”</p><p>“It’s <em> very </em> familiar,” she counters, “and that’s why it’s so <em> strange. </em> I’m looking at Gwen. I see Gwen, I see her eyes and her face and her hair. And then I see <em> your </em> mannerisms. I see the way your hands move. I hear her voice but with your accent and inflections. Even the way you’re dressed, it’s <em> you </em> and not her. It’s...surreal. Like living in a parallel universe.”</p><p>“Those <em> do </em> exist, by the way. But -- I suppose I understand. Strange seeing <em> my </em> body wandering around without me. I hear her accent in my voice and watch her move in ways I <em> never </em> would. It’s very -- oh, there’s a series I’ve seen that came from here. <em> Twilight Zone. </em> It’s all very Twilight Zone.”</p><p>“That’s a good way to put it,” she agrees, before letting her fingers lace and her hands fall down to rest on her legs. “I know we’re a bit cold around here, but I am sorry you’re dealing with this.”</p><p>“Tosh, you’re the <em> first </em> person to acknowledge that without me screaming in your face,” he answers with a pained sort of sigh, and a shake of his head. “Look, I get it -- last time you all saw me, it was... <em> well. </em>”</p><p>“You mean when you killed Jack, poisoned Gwen, shot Owen, and nearly broke my nose?”</p><p>“In my defense, I didn’t know you then.”</p><p>“That’s not a <em> defense. </em>”</p><p>“Well, I know you all now! Honestly, I’d likely shoot the medic again, but the rest I might just stop if I could do it over.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>She’s gone cold, suddenly, and his brows knit together in confusion for only the briefest of moments before understanding dawns. <em> Ah. </em> “You like him.” It’s a statement, not a question, and he waves a hand to forestall her inevitable protest. “No, no no no -- that’s fact, not speculation. You’ve caught feelings for Dr. Harper.”</p><p>Tosh inhales sharply, as though to argue once more, before she simply presses her lips together and looks away. A brief chuckle escapes him, and he shakes his head. “He err -- well, he doesn’t feel the same way, does he?” He attempts to soften his tone, but the way she stiffens tells him he hasn’t done well enough. Normally, he’d taunt her about it, or make a joke and move on, but he desperately wants to keep conversation rolling, even if only for a while longer. Going back to the Hub’s silence and his own head seems the worst option. “...I’m sorry.” There’s not much he can offer, and he shakes his head, taking a drink once more.</p><p>“It’s not anything I didn’t know,” she answers hastily, straightening up and trying to shrug it off. “Bet it’s not something <em> you </em> experience too much, is it? Bet you can have anyone you want.”</p><p>“Oh, I <em> am </em> very popular with most people, yes,” he answers, drawing a roll of her eyes from the slight woman, but also the hints of a smile. That was progress, at least. “Well, in terms of chemistry. I’m quite <em> unpopular </em> with a fair amount of law enforcement agencies, here or elsewhere.”</p><p>“Including Torchwood,” came the response, <em> near </em>-teasing. He pauses, lips pursing as he glances out over the empty area, and nods.</p><p>“Especially Torchwood,” he utters, before again drinking. The buzz in his head has become stronger now, but rather than lift his mood, the path his thoughts lead him down is darker. <em> The tunnels. Breathing heavily. Jack -- Jack right there, the way he shoved him and balled his fists into his coat. The way he wanted to kiss him, or punch him. Maybe kill him. He doesn’t know. </em></p><p>“...John?” His name brings him back to the present, and he blinks at her uncertainly.</p><p>“Hmm? Yes?”</p><p>“I asked what you were thinking about.” She seems concerned, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.</p><p>“Nothing <em> important, </em> I can promise you that.”</p><p>“You did say I’m the only one actually talking to you, so -- this is my topic. Come on. Talk.” She sits upright and still in her chair, hands on her knees, and he lets his blue eyes slide slowly over towards her. He’s tempted to say something abrasive, to tell her to bugger off -- but instead he simply sighs, lets his head fall back on the couch.</p><p>“I am <em> thinking </em> about the way Torchwood treats the unknown as a threat,” he begins slowly, almost with an affect of laziness. At least, he hopes that’s the way it comes across. “You erm -- you see something as a threat once, and then it always is, regardless of reality.”</p><p>“Like I said -- last time you were here, you-”</p><p>“Yes, yes, caused chaos, murdered a few people, it’s really just my <em> thing, </em> you know? Part of my charm.”</p><p>“Seems our jobs are to <em> stop </em> that sort of charm.”</p><p>“Yes, but you see, the <em> issue </em> is that this time I wasn’t doing <em> anything. </em> I was here for <em> fun, </em> hadn’t harmed a hair on anyone’s head, and I wake up in this body, and <em> you </em> lot drag me here in <em> handcuffs. </em> ” He scoffs, opening his eyes and lifting his head. “Like a common <em> criminal. </em> And believe me, I am <em> nothing </em> like common.” She simply gazes at him, watching and listening, before she cants her head at him. Silence reigns between them and it is a long while before he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Can’t call this a conversation if only one of us is speaking, you know.”</p><p>“Are you mad at Torchwood?” She asked quietly, her gaze steady and unreadable upon his face, before continuing, “Or Jack?”</p><p>His brow furrows deeply, and he sits upright. “Why <em> wouldn’t </em> I be upset at Torchwood? You’re rude, and prejudiced, and--”</p><p>“And we don’t know you. But he does.”</p><p>“What is it you want to hear, Miss Sato? That he used to love me and now he assumes I’m out to hurt him just because I exist? That he used to <em> know </em> me and now I’m left wondering where I took <em> such </em> a wrong turn that he won’t even look me in the eyes sometimes? I’m here, in this body, not my own, and the <em> only </em> reason he cares is <em> because </em> it’s Gwen’s. He’s the love of my life, you know.” And John is beginning to wonder if the alcohol is hitting him harder than expected. But when was the last time someone had <em> listened </em> to him, without being forced to? “And I can chase him across the universe when he disappears, and try to grab his <em> attention </em> any way I can, and all he does is look at others and dismiss <em> me. </em>”</p><p>A low growl is given, and he drains a fair amount of the fifth beer. Tosh sighs, glancing down at her hands. “We get so worried about our own, I suppose we forgot to look outside--”</p><p>“Well you did with precious little <em> Starling, </em>” he interrupted sharply, shaking his head. “She’s not one of your own.”</p><p>“...I’m sorry,” she finally offers, shaking her head. John only lets out a cynical sort of laugh, before raising his gaze to hers.</p><p>“Doesn’t mean much, you apologizing on his behalf. Tell me, though. Your doctor.”</p><p>“That’s not--”</p><p>“Oh, <em> please. </em> I showed you mine, you show me yours. Come on, now. You’re in love with the medic, he <em> clearly </em> doesn’t feel the same about you…?”</p><p>Tosh glances away, shifting her feet uncomfortably before she looks back up to him. “Is it that obvious?”</p><p>“Painfully,” he responds, before settling back into his seat, one ankle resting on the opposite knee and his arm draped over it. “So come on. Spill.”</p><p>There’s yet another moment of hesitation (she is <em> quite </em> good at those, isn’t she?) before she impulsively grabs for the glass of wine, taking a long sip. John lets out a soft chuckle, nodding. <em> One of those. </em></p><p>“Well…” She trails off, searching for words as she clasps the glass between both hands, before she shrugs. “I met him when he first joined. Not too long after me. Suppose I liked...well, him. But he’d gone through a lot, and he couldn’t think that way. I don’t think he ever will. But um...as often as I try to be there for him, he just..well. He’s always out shagging women or doing what he likes, and then…”</p><p>“I <em> do </em> know he’s dead,” John muses, and she nods before continuing.</p><p>“Well, he died, and I thought...I thought I could be there for him.” She nods, as though deciding on something, before taking another drink - and then another, longer. “Thought if I was there for him to lean on...and it backfired. Went the opposite way, he got angry and pushed me away and I tried, I did, but even now that he’s...well, he’s not <em> okay, </em> but he’s leveled out some, I think he sees me even less.”</p><p>“Like you’re invisible,” John finishes, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Like whatever you try, there’s always something better. Anything, better. You know, we were partners?” And it’s back to <em> Jack </em> again, his brain like a broken fucking record. Never <em> can </em> stay away from him for long, can he? “Worked together, lived together, ate and slept and relaxed together. I’ve killed for him, he’s killed for me. Nearly died for each other <em> more </em> than a few times, and one day he just...disappeared.” He inhales unevenly, deeply, as Tosh sips her wine quietly. “I spent three years looking for him. And then I find him with <em> you. </em> He’s got a team, got a boyfriend, got a--”</p><p>“Has he said that, for certain?”</p><p>“Oh, <em> please, </em> they won’t even label it? <em> Typical. </em> ” The word is spat out, and he shakes his head. “Yes, I know well enough what Jack Harkness looks like in love. Used to look at <em> me </em> like that.” He wants to cut himself off, he <em> really </em> does, but apparently Gwen Cooper has quite a significantly lower tolerance for alcohol, and what was originally a nice buzz has quickly taken a turn for world-rocking, and the words spill out on their own. “He um -- he does this thing. Looks when he doesn’t think you are. Watches you when you leave the room, touches you like he’s afraid to break you. There’s this...this expression he gets. Like you’ve made the sun shine just by existing. It’s dimmer now, more veiled. But I know him. And he looks at <em> Ianto Jones </em> like that.”</p><p>He kicks the table despite himself, boot thudding dully against the edge, and finishes the fifth beer. Why not get wasted? He’s not doing anything, is he? Beside him, Tosh finishes her wine and pours herself another glass.</p><p>“He’s a good man,” she murmurs, glancing up at him. “He’s done a lot of good here.”</p><p>“Of course he is. Do you think you <em> know </em> him? You think you understand him? He’s here, he’s got this team and this place but you don’t know the half of him. You don’t…” He sets the bottle down, hard, and drops back against the sofa. There’s a long silence, before Tosh stands and gathers his empties, and he remains where he is, staring at the uneven ceiling. After a while, she returns, seating herself on the other end of the sofa and slowly sipping on her second glass of wine. When he finally moves, she hands him a plastic water bottle, and he begrudgingly twists the cap off and chugs it down as he had the beer without protest.</p><p>For a long while, neither says anything - John sits and waits for the room to steady, and Tosh drinks her wine. Finally, she speaks. “I don’t know everything about Jack Harkness -- I know that, <em> everyone </em> knows that. But he’s done things you don’t know about. And they matter to all of us.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, I know. He’s turned <em> hero, </em>” John mutters, rolling his eyes. “Loved by all, including me.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” How many times has she apologized? It’s getting tiresome. “We don’t really see eye to eye, but not being seen isn’t...fun.”</p><p>“...and you deserve better,” John answered, steering the conversation away from that once more. He’s like a fucking yo-yo on a <em> string, </em>talking about Jack and then backing out of it again. But Tosh— Tosh, the only one to see him as a person, a woman who, to a point, shares his longing. Her, he can focus on with ease. “You’re a beautiful woman, Toshiko, your doctor must be blind not to see that.”</p><p>“Thought we were talking about you again.”</p><p>“Misery loves company.” He reaches out for a second bottle of water set on the table by the slight woman, twisting the cap off and taking this one more slowly. She shakes her head, sipping at her wine and opting not to respond, before he sighs heavily. “Come on, now. You’ve got to have someone? Can’t imagine there isn’t anyone out there making eyes at you. Hell, <em> I </em> was when we first met.”</p><p>“I <em> do </em> remember that,” she answered with a slight smile, shrugging one shoulder as both arms tuck close against her body. “You mentioned it earlier again. Said I was--”</p><p>“The brains <em> and </em> the beauty. Meant it, you seem to have a better head on your shoulders than the rest of this lot.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t underestimate them.”</p><p>“You’re awfully fond of them.”</p><p>“They’re my team.”</p><p>“Right, yeah, but you don’t have someone you’re seeing?”</p><p>“Insistent on that, aren’t you?” Her tone is tight, giving John exactly the answer he needs. A slow nod and a shrug is his only response, before he shifts, patting the sofa beside him.</p><p>“Come on, come sit over here.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“You don’t have to sound so <em> suspicious. </em> I’d shift over there, but the floor won’t hold still. Tolerance isn’t what I expected, so what am I going to really do, anyway? You just feel like you’re across the room.”</p><p>“...if you <em> try </em> anything…”</p><p>“Like what, attacking you? Toshiko, please.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t put it past you.” But still, she shifts over to seat herself by him on the sofa, glancing him over. “Drink more water.”</p><p>“I am, <em> I am, </em>” he responds in an irritable tone of voice, before she sighs.</p><p>“No. No, I don’t have anyone outside of the team. Torchwood doesn’t leave a lot of time for that, and the last few encounters I’ve had, well…” She shakes her head. “It didn’t go so well. So, just me. But you -- I’ve bet you’ve got loads of people. You said before you had.”</p><p>“Oh, well, <em> yeah. </em> Whole universe, lots of willing people, human and <em> far </em> from.” He lets out a snort, smirking before he lifts the bottle to his lips. “Can’t say it ever lasts, though. Too many things to do, and I don’t do commitment.”</p><p>“That’s likely why you don’t have anyone.”</p><p>“<em> Hey. </em>” He nudges her arm with the back of his hand, feigning offense. “I just don’t like being tied down. How boring is that?”</p><p>“And here you are, moping over Jack. Seems to be going well.”</p><p>“You <em> are </em> about commitment and the boring drudgery of the day-to-day, and you’re here moping over your doctor!”</p><p>“You started that, not <em> me. </em>” She takes another large gulp of her wine, before realizing she’d drained the glass, and reaching for the bottle again. Her tone, John recognizes, is combative, and he can’t help the grin that slides over his face.</p><p>“Come on, then, tell me about the rest of your team, if there’s no one outside of it. Ever had any interest in them?”</p><p>“No,” she answers briefly and firmly, filling her glass and taking another sip of it before settling back onto the couch.</p><p>“Oh, come on, don’t clam up on me. Not any of them?”</p><p>“If I had, I wouldn’t tell <em> you. </em>”</p><p>“Well, if none of them have looked at you like that, they’re blind.”</p><p>“What exactly do you think flirting with me is going to get you, John?”</p><p>“Can’t a man be honest without being suspected of something? Or -- man in a woman’s body, whatever I am currently?”</p><p>“Maybe some could, but <em> you’re </em> the exception.”</p><p>He has to admit to himself, he enjoys the way she looks when she’s riled up. The stiff spine, the sharp eyes, the slow flush climbing her cheeks. Her voice has taken on a tone more stern, and John finally sits up from where he’s been slouched to bring his head even with hers.</p><p>“You flirted with me when we first met,” he returns softly, and dark eyes meet green solidly.</p><p>“I didn’t know who you were, then.”</p><p>“Can’t deny animal attraction.”</p><p>“Good thing at least <em> one </em> of us isn’t an animal.”</p><p>“Insulting me really isn’t doing what you think it is.”</p><p>“And what <em> is </em> it doing--?” Her tone trails off, voice pitching slightly higher just before it fades as she realizes how close he is now, the way he’s leaned in as they speak, and he can see the hesitation and question in her gaze.</p><p>“Tosh--”</p><p>“John.” He can’t sense whether it’s warning or simply acceptance, but she doesn’t resist as he takes the glass from her hand, setting it on the coffee table before he sits back up, meeting her gaze. No harm in taking a chance, now is there? He lifts a hand to her chin, fingers taking it in his grasp almost delicately before he leans in -- and their lips meet.</p><p>It’s soft, at first - Tosh’s lips are warm against his, though it’s an unfamiliar feeling. These lips are Gwen’s, and while he got a few moments to explore them that morning, they were still a foreign experience. And, as it seems, Tosh is uncertain about taking the lead, but neither does she pull away. So, it’s up to him then. He can readily oblige.</p><p>He kisses her more firmly now, hand shifting to cup her cheek as his fingers curl around the back of her neck, silky hair tangled between as his other palm finds home against the curve of her waist and pulls her closer against him, closer still until she’s nearly atop him and he can properly feel her body against his own. For a few precious heartbeats, she remains uncertain, before her lips part beneath his and he can feel the warmth of her exhale across his face.</p><p>It is this permission that drives him, as his hand slides around her waist and up between her shoulder blades, pressing flat to pull her in tight. His tongue finds entry between her lips as she gives in to his embrace, finding hers ready and willing to move in tandem against it. She’s warm, and smells of some lingering perfume, and the taste of wine on her lips is clear and strong. For the moment, the rest of the world is insignificant -- the Hub falls away, the confusion and chaos and fear. He’s seeking a distraction in Toshiko Sato, and he has found it as she slides her hand down his side to rest against his hip, her fingertips ghosting over exposed skin between top and trousers in a way that makes John shiver -- it’s a surprise, he’s not quite used to reacting to sensation there, and there is a thrill of the novelty for the moment. His fingers tangle more deeply into her hair now, finding a grip not ungentle as he indulges, pulling back just enough to allow teeth to find her lip for a moment, glancing up to meet her gaze. She really <em> is </em> beautiful, he wasn’t lying about that, and she’s brilliant -- brilliant enough to worry him, which is quite a standard. A soft breath is released, half-sigh and half a near-chuckle, before he moves to kiss her once more -- and a firm hand on his chest stops him.</p><p>“Stop--” His eyes blink open in confusion, grasp on her slackening as she pushes away, wiping the edge of her sleeve against her lips. “<em> Stop, </em> what do you think you’re doing?”</p><p>“I thought we were both on the same page,” he begins, sitting up, one hand reaching out for her before a sharp slap against it forces it away.</p><p>“You can’t <em> kiss </em> me,” she hisses, dragging her sweater more closely about her as she backs away, leaving John bewildered.</p><p>“If you’re worried about Jack, <em> trust </em> me, he’s not interested--”</p><p>“That’s not <em> your body. </em> How would you feel if Gwen--?”</p><p>“Well, since I gave her explicit permission, I’d be--”</p><p>“And she <em> didn’t </em> for you.” Toshiko’s voice was harsh, and sharp, and she shook her head as she began to clean up, snatching the glass and wine bottle up into her hands. “I can’t believe I let you--”</p><p>“You were a <em> willing </em> participant, don’t pin this on <em> me, </em> ” John snaps, surging to his feet and stumbling uncertainly as the liquor again spun his world about, and he fights to keep his balance. “I didn’t force you into <em> anything-- </em>”</p><p>“No.” Her voice is tight and low, as she looks up at him, a flush clear in her expression. “You didn’t. I--” She looks away now, shaking her head. “Don’t...you can’t tell <em> anyone </em> about this. It was wrong.”</p><p>She turns away then, giving John time to slowly push the bewildered expression into something more like neutrality, though his heart still takes its own damn time to slow, as he looks after her. Right. Of course, they’d all crucify her for it, wouldn’t they? Or would they? He’s no real idea what they do in their off time, she could be snogging all sorts of people, human or otherwise. At least she wasn’t shoving him away because of who he <em> was, </em> just because of the body he was inhabiting.</p><p>When she returns, John is leaning against one of the support pillars in an attempt to look casual, though in reality it holds his inebriated body still. “I won’t tell anyone,” he promises, shrugging one shoulder. “Just thought you were into it.”</p><p>“...it was a mistake,” Tosh responds, avoiding his gaze. “Just -- I can’t. I can’t do that to Gwen.”</p><p>“Right. So it wasn’t -- <em> me, </em> then, it was--”</p><p>“Oh, <em> leave </em> it.” She shakes her head, returning to her station to retrieve the stun gun she’d held earlier from its place beneath the desk. “Come on, we’ve -- there are rooms I can put you in that are more comfortable than the cells. Same surveillance, same locks on the door, but…”</p><p>He’s tempted to make a comment about her going soft, but he feels that would only get him in more trouble, and he pushes himself upright, a frown furrowing his brow as he remains focused on walking in a straight line. “Fine, right, okay. Don’t blame yourself, I saw how fast you downed that wine. You can blame it on the alcohol if you like. I always do.”</p><p>He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t receive one as he follows the woman into the depths of Torchwood.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>♫ It's my fic and I'll write my rarepair if I want to. ♬</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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